BUFFY Meets STAR TREK 2
by Johnny Snowball
Summary: The future is the present and the present is the past as we transverse time, space and planes of existence on new epic adventures with the Scooby Gang and the crew of the Enterprise… (4 NEW chapters are up. 13-16. Episode 4) SEQUEL
1. The End & The Beginning: PROLOGUE

Hi all & thanks for stopping by. This is the sequel to _Buffy meets Star Trek_, so it's not gonna make much sense if you haven't read that first. Hint hint.  
SPOILER ALERT! If you DO read this before the first one it will spoil the ending.  
_Buffy meets Star Trek 2_ follows The Scoobs on a series of adventures in the Star Trek universe that make up 1 epic story. Hopefully.  
The idea is that BxST:2 will be written episodically. The first episode is The End and The Beginning, the second episode is Death & Destiny. Each episode will have 4 chapters. Confused yet? I was planning to write each episode as a separate post but, ultimately, they will form an arc for an entire 'season' so I prefer to keep it all together as one big-ass story.  
BUT, I plan to write 1 separate episode, just to give a heads-up. It will be a bigger project – a 'feature-length' episode called… BIG TEASER coming up…  
Star Trek: Aliens vs Predator (featuring Buffy the Vampire Slayer).  
The idea is that it's bigger than 4 chapters and some people might read it who don't read my BxST crossovers so I will post it as a stand-alone story. I WILL let you know when you reach the chapter of BxST:2 preceding ST:AVP so that you don't miss it. That's the plan, anyways.  
Did any of that make sense?  
Some of you may know this is the 2nd time I've tried writing this story. I felt that draft 1 was too flat and dull. I've managed to integrate future story events into the opening much more effectively this time around. This is what the 1st attempt should have been. I only hope those who were disappointed by my earlier removal of draft 1 are not disappointed by my redraft.  
Okay, I'm done waffling now.  
Enjoy ;o)

The future is the present and the present is the past as we transverse time, space and planes of existence on new epic adventures with the Scooby Gang and the crew of the Enterprise…

* * *

_-_** Buffy Meets Star Trek 2**-

_**The End & The Beginning**_

- Prologue -

**01**

In the year 2376, the universe changed.

An almighty power broke through the great dimensional divide separating realities and the world of the Federation found itself thrown into chaos. It was on this day, this bloody dawn, that the crew of the Enterprise-E were witness to the arrival of The Six:

Buffy Summers. Rupert Giles. Willow Rosenberg. Alexander Harris. Anya Jenkins. And the Demon they called Spike.

From a parallel past, a world of myth and magic, they came. And with them they brought Evil. An evil that would become an infection.

During the fierce battle of Epsilon Ursae – the first in the Demon Wars – the worlds of science and the supernatural united in an effort to protect Mankind from a being hell-bent on their annihilation.

Their mission was a success.

They were helpless, however, to prevent a number of their Demon foe escaping out into the dark corners of the galaxy.

The events that followed shaped the future and the lives of many.

42 years passed and the universe changed again, and even these events fell into the realm of myth and legend.

But the past, like a patient and silent hunter, has a way of catching up with its prey…

* * *

**2418 AD:**

Young Wesley Crusher tore through the streets as fast as he could push himself, tugging at the clothing of those around him, desperate to pull them along with him, screaming at the crowds to run. "Run for your lives! Save yourselves!"

But no one listened. He knew it would be this way. Why would they follow? He was just another lunatic. Just another boy who cried wolf.

But he wasn't crazy. The end really was coming and no one cared to listen. The universe failed to heed his warning.

He found the town square, the heart of the community, full just as he expected. Geordi la Forge was there trying to kick-start the lifeless warp core that rose from the central stone fountain where the water had ceased to flow.

"Wes!" La Forge called out to him. Even through his visor the man looked distraught. "Give me a hand here! The warp field coils are bone dry – see if you can find the plasma valve interlocks so we can get this thing flowing."

He waved Geordi off, knowing there was nothing the engineer could do. Even with his best efforts, he didn't stand a chance of restoring power.

Wesley orbited the square frantically searching for someone desperately important.

But who was she? Where was she?

Then he found her – pushing through the crowd toward him.

"Robin!" He ran to her, embraced her.

She was the young Robin Lefler, just as she had been the first time he met her on the Enterprise-D. Young, fresh and cute as hell. But the brunette's bright smile was not with her now. He tried to warn her. "We have to get out of here! We've gotta run!"

"Run where? There's nowhere to go. We have no power!"

Geordi still tried to get the engine started in a desperate effort. Data was with him now, tearing out the wiring from his chest for the engineer to work with. But each time La Forge took a handful of the android's internal cables they turned to dry spaghetti and crumbled between his snatching fingers.

The crowds continued about their business as if all was well. Why did they ignore what was happening around them?

Robin took hold of him. "I thought you said you fixed all this?" she whined "We're supposed to be safe now."

He didn't have the chance to answer.

It was too late.

Too late to make them listen as the sun went out and the thick heavy shadow of death fell across the land and brought with it a terrible screeching siren. He'd heard the sound once before at school, in history class, long before he knew the name _Enterprise_.

It was the air raid warning. Incoming. Death had arrived for them all.

All existence. Doomed to Hell.

Wes spun to find the face of the girl he loved, but Robin was gone.

Instead, the ghostly grey shapes of people reached out for him in the dark. 'Save us…'

Wesley was overcome. Grasping colourless arms came for him and he couldn't bear to be touched. He didn't understand why this was happening. Couldn't make sense of this world he was trapped in.

'Save us,' they called to him again with their ghostly dying cry.

"I…" he uttered pathetically. "I thought I _did_."

He was whipped about suddenly and Robin Lefler gripped his face in her clawing hands. "_You_ did this!" she spat. "You made ghosts of us all!"

* * *

Young Wesley Crusher leapt out of bed, the siren still wailing in his ears. His back wrenched and he remembered he wasn't so young after all. With some effort, he straightened himself up and realised the siren was real.

His computer workstation was alight with flashing red bars. They were on alert!

He checked the bed but it was empty. Where was Robin? He began to panic. Something on the surface of his subconscious told him she was in danger. He remembered vague imagery of her by a fountain under the shadow of death, and of the grey reaching hands of ghosts. A dream almost forgotten.

Then he remembered she was already on duty. An early start, she'd said. Things to do, things to fix.

He called for lights, shut off the alarm and threw on his uniform. Black pants, blue-green turtleneck shirt and dark grey retro wrap-around tunic.

He pulled on his boots and went to the bathroom to check himself. There was no time to tidy his dishevelled hair. No time to brush his teeth, wash or eat.

Squinting against the bright glow of the overheads, he saw the face of the man he had become. His hair was dark with grey; his face a little wrinkled and his jowls had begun their sag downwards. It was the face of an old man looking back at him. A 70-year old man.

A familiar voice rang out over the ship's intercom. 'Would all senior staff please report to the bridge.'

Wes regarded his reflection again. He was too old to care about his shaggy hair and tired face. He zipped up his undershirt, wrapped his double-breasted tunic across his chest and locked it in place. He felt a flush of nostalgia as he imagined James Tiberius Kirk wearing the old red version of the wrap-around uniform.

Commander Wesley Crusher grabbed a belt – black with gold-rimmed oval Starfleet buckle – snapped it around his waist and launched himself out of his quarters.

* * *

Willow Rosenberg marched from her room, clipping the flap of her tunic in place and headed for deck 1.

She met Crusher in the turbolift just as he called for the bridge. "Any idea what happened?" she asked, fixing her hair.

"No," he answered. "We should still be an hour from the Neutral Zone."

Wesley Crusher regarded the woman as the lift sped along to the top deck. She was a decade younger than he, her grey hair, still with hints of red from her youth, was bundled into a bun at the crown of her head. She was young-at-heart yet conveyed great calmness, reason and logic.

"Maybe the threat _is_ real," he suggested.

"Things have been tense with the Romulans since that supernova destroyed their home planet." "That was thirty years ago. You think they're still trying to blame us?"

"Well," she considered, "without Ambassador Spock, they've gotta blame someone. It might not be rational but the Romulans rarely are. Perhaps today's the day they take it to war."

"That's crazy. Their fleet is still weak."

"Not according to the latest intelligence reports," she revealed.

He frowned back at her, surprised at the news, but didn't push for further information. Clearly it was still classified.

She noticed his worn face. "You alright, Wes?"

"Hmm?"

"You look like it's the end of the universe. Again."

He pushed his mouth up into a half-hearted smile.

"You can't keep blaming yourself for the Romulan situation," she made clear. "None of us would even _be_ here if it wasn't for you."

"No." he shook his head and waved that old argument away. "It was just… a bad dream. I think. I don't even remember now." His face creased up. "It just left me with a …feeling."

"You should talk to the Counsellor."

"Thanks, but I think I'll skip it. I'm sure he's perfectly capable… But Troi was the only head-doctor I was ever comfortable with."

Willow smiled back. She knew exactly what he meant. The Enterprise wasn't the same without the old team.

* * *

The doors of the turbolift whooshed open and they stepped onto the command deck.

The bridge was busy with activity as crewmembers examined readouts around the room and the graveyard shift handed over to the primary crew.

The green-skinned Security Chief was already in place, confirming Willow's suspicion that he slept in his uniform.

It was a five-level bridge with a short rail on either side, a green and blue glow radiating from the computer panels. The doors and two side workstations were on the top level, and tactical too. Right in front of it, and a step down, was the command chair. Another step down and two more seats on either side of the centre chair – First Officer's and guest's. Two more steps down and a single console with two stools side-by-side lay in 'the pit'. Ops and helm.

Ensign brand relinquished the forward Ops console to the Chief Science Officer and Chief of Operations, Wesley Crusher. He took the seat and quickly reprogrammed the interface to his own specifications.

In the centre chair sat the ever-dependable First Officer; Commander Data. He observed their entry with the cold gaze of a machine. His yellow face, though unchanged over the years, was now topped with a head of swept-back silver-white hair. The colour was an affectation, of course. It was Data's way of fitting in with the old cronies at the top of the ships' command-chain. It didn't suit him, Wesley thought, but it was a nice gesture. Unfortunately, Data didn't seem to realise it only served to remind some of them just how old they had become.

Crusher still couldn't get used to seeing Data in a red uniform. Though there wasn't much red to see. Just the neck of his shirt, two bands around his lower sleeves, two stripes on his legs and the shoulder strap that held the flap of his tunic closed.

Data pushed himself up out of the Captain's chair and stepped aside. His neutral expression gave nothing away.

Willow crossed the bridge to meet him. "Data. Talk to me."

"A few minutes ago, sensors detected a Romulan Raptor entering the Neutral Zone on a direct course for Federation space. I have increased our speed to warp nine to intercept. We will arrive at the border in three minutes."

So, Willow conceded, the warning they'd received had been accurate after all. "Are we within visual range?"

Wesley calculated the distance. "We are."

"Show me."

He put it up on the main screen.

A bird-like craft, deep fern green in colour, with open predatory wings that arched forward in the familiar symbol of the Empire appeared travelling the Neutral Zone at sub-light speed.

A Romulan Raptor.

Their new battle cruisers. Equal in size to the Enterprise but much smaller than the old D'deridex-class Warbirds of the 2360's and the Norexan-class Warbirds of the late 2370's and 80's.

They'd seen the ship before in intelligence reports but this would be the first encounter recorded by any outside the Romulan Star Empire.

The solo fighter craft sailed toward them openly, blatantly, without stealth. No sign of fear or doubt. Unlike the Enterprise' crew who felt both.

Crusher spoke up first; "One ship?"

"There could be more. Cloaked. Maybe a whole armada." It was Crius, the Orion security chief.

"Then why display just one ship in full view?" Willow thought aloud.

"Maybe they want us to know they're coming?" offered Wes.

"_Maybe_ isn't an answer. Hail them."

Crius tried but his signal fell flat. "They're not responding."

"Open a channel."

The green Orion set up the antenna array and initiated a full-spectrum transmission. "Channel open on all frequencies,"

"This is Captain Willow Rosenberg of the Federation starship Enterprise speaking to the commander of the Romulan vessel now in the Neutral Zone. You are not authorised to enter Federation space. …It goes without saying, but I'll say it anyway; …if you do so, it will be considered an act of aggression. One that may lead to war."

They waited and watched but the Raptor still came.

"Still no response," Crius reported.

The lift returned with more crew and the young helmsman – Korotkin – took his station beside Wesley.

Everyone was in place.

"Let's make it look good, people," said Willow as she settled into her command chair. "Start pushing buttons." She looked to Data who was still standing; head slightly tilted, eyes darting across the carpet as he no doubt cross-referenced intelligence reports and ran risk-assessments, and whatever else he thought about in these situations. She knew by now she could interrupt him without causing him any degree of distraction. Not when his positronic brain was capable of performing sixty trillion operations per second.

"Data. Feel like doing a double-shift?"

His focus returned to the room and he moved to the seat on her right. "Under the circumstances I see no cause for objection."

She smiled. "Good to hear it."

He accessed the long-range sensors through the small control panel beside his chair. "The _Meticulous_ is point-three-two light years from our position. They can reach us in under two hours."

Willow's lips tightened. Her number one was already considering battle options. Two hours was a long time and the Meticulous was just a science vessel with minimal defences. Still…

"Signal them," she said to Crius.

"We're thirty seconds out, Captain," Wesley said over his shoulder.

She gripped the arms of her chair reflexively and wondered why today of all days. "Lieutenant Korotkin. Take us as far as we can go."

* * *

The _U.S.S. Enterprise _NCC-1701-F dropped out of warp and drew to a stop on the edge of the Romulan Neutral Zone.

* * *

"Helm answering all stop," signalled Korotkin.

Willow stood up and faced the screen.

Crius scanned the space ahead. "The Raptor is coming to a halt less than a kilometre from Federation space."

She felt a measure of relief at that. At least the Romulans weren't storming in at them.

"Their weapons systems are on standby, Captain," added the Orion.

So much for relief, she reconsidered. "Red alert. Bring the shields up and weapons on standby."

Willow watched the dark bird-like vessel as it hung there before them with its avian wings spread. She heard the tones at tactical as Crius entered his commands. The Enterprise was battle-ready.

Yet the Romulans remained still.

Unthreatened.

In her mind she pictured their two ships in space, just a few klicks apart, hovering motionless. A silent stare-off at the border.

Then she became aware that Data had joined her. They turned to each other and the puzzled concern on his face reflected her own like a mirror.

Leonid Korotkin, the 20-year-old newly promoted flight control lieutenant, shifted uncomfortably in his seat, unable to take his eyes off the bird. "What are they doing?" he whispered to Wes.

It was loud enough for the bridge to hear and Crius replied: "They probably want us to make the first move. Something else they can blame us for."

"They've already made the first move," noted the captain. She narrowed her eyes at the viewscreen. "Something's off here. We're missing something. Hail them again."

Crius tried and shook his head.

Willow pressed a hand to her communicator badge. "Bridge to engineering."

"Crusher here."

"Robin, is your tetryon invertor ready?"

"Charged and ready to test, Captain."

With the recent and unsettling intelligence that the Romulans were finally getting back on their feet, Willow had asked the Chief Engineer – Robin Lefler-Crusher – to come up with a method of detecting their invisible Raptors. This charged and ready to test device had been the hastily built result. "Let's see if we can't pick up any cloaked ships over there."

Crius patched into engineering and performed the sensor sweep.

Wesley monitored the results as they came in. "I'm getting something…"

A warning siren flared.

"Raptor decloaking off the port bow!" cried the Orion. "Charging weapons. They're firing!"

Willow jumped into the command chair. "Lieutenant…!"

Korotkin was on top of it. "Dodging the bullet, Captain!" He rolled the ship to starboard as hard as the controls let him.

Enterprise vibrated as a torpedo impacted on the edge of her shields.

"We are under attack," grumbled Crius.

Willow regained her equilibrium. "No kiddin'. Evasive manoeuvre Riker-gamma."

"Yes, ma'am," replied the pilot and punched it in.

Rosenberg turned to tactical. "Target their weapons. Full phasers."

Crius locked on and fired. "Minimal damage. Incoming!"

BANG

The bridge seemed to spin around them like a mad fairground ride.

To Willow it felt like they'd been side-swiped by a starship. "Damage report?"

Crius checked the internals. "We've lost section eight on deck ten. Our shields are ineffective!"

Data had managed to keep his balance but now he returned to his seat. "Bulkheads and forcefields?"

"In place and holding," replied Wes.

The Captain watched on the viewscreen as the attacking Raptor made a wide arc as it turned for a second pass. The impact of its torpedo had been far too powerful. "What the hell are they hitting us with?"

Wesley was already scanning the space around the impact site. "They're firing some kind of non-baryonic torpedo."

_What? _The Captain's mouth went dry. "Dark matter?"

Wes gave her his seriously serious face. "I'm reading a massive axion distortion field. …Dark matter, Captain."

Willow knew the risks of dark matter. Its ability to distort normal matter on contact, just as it had with their hull. Moreover, even without a direct hit, dark matter had a nasty tendency towards gravitational attraction and gravimetric distortion. Both dangerous phenomenon to a nearby starship.

She moved across to Crusher. "The distortion field? Is it expanding?"

"Negative. Looks like it's dispersing."

She tried to avoid the sense of relief this time. "Take measures to avoid the fallout, Korotkin, and prepare to engage attack pattern delta. Crius – quantum torpedo spread on my mark."

"We can't afford too many hits from their new weapon, Captain," replied the Orion warrior.

"I'm aware of that." She sat down and watched the Raptor swooping in on them like a buzzard. For a moment she wondered why the other raptor – the one that had travelled in plain sight to the edge of their space – hadn't joined in. She ignored her relief before it could turn against her. "Engage attack – take us in nice and close."

Anyone else might question the command, but Korotkin smiled. The captain hoped they wouldn't fire and risk damaging themselves if they dug in close. He fired up the thrusters and turned into the Raptor's path.

* * *

The Enterprise sailed along towards its enemy and spun over in a roll, avoiding two dark matter missiles, until it came up belly-to-belly with the Romulan Raptor and fired 3 quantum torpedoes into its gut.

* * *

Unfortunately for the Enterprise, the Romulans weren't afraid of their own power. They fired another new missile as Enterprise passed under them and it met with one of the Starfleet torpedoes.

There came a brief and silent implosion, before both vessels were shoved away by the blast.

"The hull?" Rosenberg called out.

"In tact," reported Wesley.

"Straighten us out and bring us about for a pattern gamma-nine. Prepare another spread."

Crius scowled at his terminal. He had bad news for the boss. "The other Raptor is crossing the border. Powering weapons!"

Willow looked to Data gravely. "No trouble for three months and today of all days _this_."

A communications beep came from Crius's station. "Captain, …we are being hailed. By the approaching Raptor. Audio only." He saw the mix of surprise and relief on his captain's face as she gave him the nod. He opened the channel.

A strong female voice echoed onto the bridge; 'This is Commander Saral of the Imperial Raptor _K'Trel_. The vessel attacking you is under Tal Shiar control and is not operating under the authority of the Empire.' With that said, the transmission cut off.

"Wow," said Wesley. "That was almost a conversation."

What it was**, **considered Willow, was the first communication from Romulans in almost twenty years. She also considered the Tal Shiar - the elite intelligence agency of the Romulan Star Empire. A force highly respected and feared throughout the Alpha and Beta Quadrants, even by the Romulans (Or perhaps not by the Romulans anymore). Its purpose had been guarding the security of the Empire. Some years ago there had been reports that the Tal Shiar was all but defunct – an extinct organisation since the destruction of Romulus. If it still exists, she thought, it clearly doesn't have the fear-inspiring clout it once had with its own people.

"Try to keep some distance," she ordered. "Let them have at each other. If you get a clear lock on the Tal Shiar bird, Crius, fire at will."

"Yes, ma'am."

The crew of the Enterprise' command deck watched tensely as the Raptors met on the viewscreen with an explosive exchange as each ship fired a barrage of missiles.

The Enterprise circled, firing torpedoes and phasers before peeling away to avoid the repercussions.

"Status of the Romulan vessels, Mr Crius?"

"The Tal Shiar are devious tacticians, Captain. Their shields are at sixty percent and they continue to avoid serious damage. The K'Trel seems to have only standard disruptor banks and their shields have no effect against the dark matter weapons. They have multiple hull breaches and a loss of life support on many decks." He observed their path. "They may have lost navigational sensors – they're flying into the wake of a dark matter explosion."

"Warn them–"

The entire tip of the K'trel's right wing passed through the distortion field and was instantly crushed. Explosions rippled across its surface and the Tal Shiar Raptor swooped in for the kill.

Crius fired quantum torpedoes but failed to prevent the enemy firing a single axion torpedo into the K'trel's back.

Commander Saral's Raptor ripped apart and exploded into fragments of spinning debris.

Willow found herself standing once more as she saw the enemy rotating to face them. So much for the Romulans saving the day.

Data came to her side again and she said; "Any ideas on shielding?"

"From dark matter?" the android answered in his oddly soothing tone. "No. And, considering the Romulan's inability to defend against their own weapon, it is unlikely such a defence exists."

Wesley stiffened up before them. "Another vessel's decloaking… it's a … it's a _Warbird_, Captain."

Crius scanned it the moment it became solid. "They're locking weapons!"

Willow felt like banging her own head against the wall. But part of her had the feeling she wouldn't live long enough to worry about their predicament much longer. "Give me a _Fido_, Lieutenant. Full power to ventral shields."

With that, Korotkin rolled the starship and displayed its belly just as the Warbird released 3 dark matter torpedoes.

The sparkling green missiles sailed towards the Enterprise, skimmed the saucer's shields…

…and crashed into the Tal Shiar Raptor.

The subsequent distortion waves crumpled and tore the smaller ship apart.

The bridge crew of the Enterprise were bewildered as the old Norexan-class Romulan Warbird flew across their bow, slowed, and wheeled around until it came to rest just a few hundred kilometres ahead.

The sharp beak-shaped head of the Warbird looked directly into their eyes as it hovered before them.

Willow stepped forward, her pale face turning a shade paler as the image in front of her brought the blood-soaked pages of the past warping across time and slamming hard into the here-and-now.

She stood for long seconds in a silent stand-off with the Warbird.

Could it be?

That ship was carrying the dark matter torpedoes. If it was _him_… with those weapons… she had very little time to live.

What would her last thought be?

She reached out for Data and found his hand.

And she waited.

The Warbird hung there on the viewer, staring them right in the face.

The moment seemed to stretch on too long, and before Willow could request an open channel, the Warbird began to shimmer.

The captain turned to Crius with an open mouth but there was very little he could do. "It's gone."

Willow faced the blank star field and hit the badge at her breast. "Robin, can we produce another inversion sweep?"

"We need at least half an hour to bring the device up to full charge, Captain."

Then it was invisible and probably long gone.

"Did we get any scans from the Warbird?" she asked desperately. "Life signs? Or… any signs?"

"Negative, ma'am," Crius replied. "They were operating with a scattering field. But we did get some interesting readings from the Tal Shiar vessel. It's no wonder the Romulans tried to stop it. Now we know their combat capabilities."

Data approached his captain and spoke quietly. "You suspect–?"

"No," she said right away. "…I mean… after all this time. …It can't be. No, Data. If it was him… we wouldn't be alive right now." She stared out at the empty space where the Warbird had been until she noticed Korotkin watching her. His face betrayed confusion and concern.

"What now, Captain?" he asked.

Willow Rosenberg looked into the pilot's young face, smooth and pale and topped with a wild mop of blond hair, and once again, as she often did, realised she was no longer so young. She was the wrinkled captain of the flagship of the United Federation of Planets.

She looked around the room. All eyes were on her. What now?

"I'll contact Starfleet and have them send an investigative team to pick up the pieces," she said at last, remembering the USS Meticulous. A Starfleet science vessel with advanced sensors. "Contact the Meticulous. They may as well begin the investigation since they're heading this way. We could still learn something from the wreckage to explain what just happened here." She returned to the centre chair and eased her old body into it. Finally she could submit to relief. The Enterprise was in one piece and they were alive. Today of all days that meant a lot.

"Return us to our original course please, Lt. Korotkin."

"Yes, ma'am. Setting course for Earth."

"Warp factor five."

"Helm ready."

She put out a finger like an old captain she once knew. "Engage."

With the press of a button, the pilot set the ship hurtling once again through the stars.

* * *

**Disclaimer:**

STAR TREK is a Registered Trademark of Paramount Pictures.

BUFFY THE VAMPIRE SLAYER is a Registered Trademark of Twentieth Century Fox Film Corporation, Warner Bros TV Network, Mutant Enemy Productions, and whoever else has a finger in the pie.

You can view this story in proper format WITH images at twisting the hellmouth if you follow the link in my profile.

Thanks.


	2. Willow's Enterprise

-** Buffy Meets Star Trek 2**-

**_The End & The Beginning_**

- Willow's Enterprise -

**02**

In a streak of light, the Enterprise-F warped its way past the Chi Eridani star like a silent bullet aimed at Earth. In her readyroom, the Captain sat at her nickel-framed floating glass desk, a 2-metre long window of shooting stars behind her. On the table in front of her, the small desktop computer showed the latest crew evaluations and Data's recommendations for promotion; all awaiting her approval. The last crew eval she would ever sign off on.

But she wasn't working on it now. Her eyes were not looking at the screen but through it. They were focused beyond the present to some mythical past where Romulans plotted and the evil Emperor of a Warbird named _Demeter_ was once again on his dark throne.

So long ago, it seemed.

Willow Rosenberg returned to the present and shut off the screen. She decided she'd look it over later when she could focus – after breakfast and a wash. She'd already sent the pilot and security chief off to get themselves ready for work proper, since their rude awakening that morning. She would do the same on their return before letting Wesley Crusher straighten himself out for the day. Then, finally, Data would be able to clock off from his night shift.

But right now she just wanted to take a minute. Especially after waking up to a shock attack. And today, of all days, should have been a nice gentle stroll back to Earth. One last time.

She looked around at the room that had been her office for the last 8 years.

The readyroom was beige and comfortable, like the bridge and the rest of the ship. Everything was beige and simple. A warm, soft beige tan. A very homey colour with details in light browns and bronzes. Most of the seating, including the captain's command chair, was padded in a darker sepia and most doors were a cinereous ashy grey. As ship décor, it was light and comfortable and, after so long, it felt like home, even with the wear and tear of the years.

She was due for a refit, but the new Enterprise-F refit would not be hers to command.

The thought of that left her a little saddened even though, considering the new Romulan development, the upside far outweighed the down. That wouldn't stop her from missing it. The ride had been long and wild but, like everything, it had to end eventually.

Her thoughts began to drift back once again when her door let out a single beep.

She reached for the wall controls by her desk and opened the door. It was Data.

He came in from the bridge with a small report padd in his yellow hand.

Her mind was still half in the yesteryears and she recalled the day Data had turned up for work with his new silver head of hair. He'd wanted to fit in with the older command level staff and also hoped the new look would give him an air of authority and maturity. His logic had determined that age represented experience and wisdom, and that grey hair was the best way for him to simulate age. She hadn't been too sure about the look back then, but it had grown on her over the years. Now she could barely remember him any other way.

"Come on in, Data," she said as she got up to meet him.

"I have now received the complete damage report from all departments."

"What's our situation?"

"Four members of the crew are unaccounted for," he reported gravely. "Their quarters were in the section exposed to space."

She closed her eyes and acknowledged, then took the padd he offered. Four names were displayed. All good people. Dedicated officers who were asleep in their beds just an hour before duty when they were ripped out of the ship and thrown to their icy deaths in the cold dark of space. Horrifying.

Data continued; "Additional structural integrity has been allocated to reinforce the exposed section of deck ten. Forcefields are in place and emergency bulkheads have been withdrawn. A clean-up crew has been assigned. All other systems are functioning within normal parameters."

Willow offered him the couch. "How are the rest of the crew?"

"Confused."

"Yeah… me too, Data."

"However," he observed, "the anticipation of our return to Earth appears to offset this sense of unease."

"It does at that," she agreed, speaking of herself.

Data took the seat offered to him on the Captain's couch.

Willow regarded him – the way he sat, with his legs crossed and one arm along the back of the seat. He had become a much more natural being than the robotic man she had met all those years ago.

She joined him, and sat close beside him, resting her head against his outstretched arm. "My last mission as captain of this ship and I lost four people, and I don't even know why. We hear nothing from the Romulans for years and now a Tal Shiar ship attacks us? Why? And the Empire sends a ship to stop them, which I can understand. They're not ready for war and they'd rather keep their new weapons hush-hush."

Data agreed. "That would explain the actions of the K'trel. It _is_ likely they did not wish us to learn of their dark matter warheads."

She nodded. "Not yet."

A long silence followed in which Data observed Willow's face as she considered things. It was a long silence but not an uncomfortable one. It was a common occurrence in their relationship when there was no reason for words. Data was practically incapable of feeling uncomfortable and Willow knew there was no requirement for small talk where he was concerned. It was nice, she thought. Soothing even. No pretence, nothing forced. Just two close friends there for each other.

"Data," she said thoughtfully, "Do you know what 'raptor' means?"

He accessed his memory files. "Latin. It means to seize or take by force."

"Yes." She gave a nod and thought of the Romulan fleet of Raptors. "I don't know what's going on, Data… but I feel a war coming."

"Then we have a difficult future ahead if we must face their new weapons." The corner of his mouth curled up ever so slightly. "One might think it is a good time to retire."

She smiled. "You know…I think you're right. What's our E.T.A. again?"

"At our current speed, assuming there are no further delays, twenty-eight hours and seventeen minutes until our arrival in Spacedock." He regarded her quizzically. "You have asked that same question a number of times. Your obsession with the timeframe of our journey suggests you are not eager to reach our destination."

She sighed heavily. "I'm not sure whether to be eager or not. …In twenty-eight hours and seventeen minutes all this," she waved at the ship and the star field, "will be over for me, Data. I'd be lying if I said I wasn't apprehensive about the change. It's an end as well as a new beginning. Sometimes… it's a little difficult to take that first transitional step. The fact that one aspect of your life is coming to an end can be more of a pressure than the anticipation of a fresh start."

"It does not have to end if you do not wish."

She put a hand to his thigh. "I'm sixty years old. It's time. Besides, we've finally managed to firewall your positronic matrix so you've no excuse not to take command. In twenty-one hours and…sixteen minutes, Data, you will be a commodore, and commander of the Enterprise."

Data almost looked nervous at the prospect.

* * *

A slim young officer with a head of wild blond hair strutted into Ten-Forward and slapped his hands on the bar. "I need caffeine," begged Leonid Korotkin. "As much of it as you can fit into one glass."

The female barkeeper steepled her dark fingers to her lips. The pinkish disc she wore for a hat seemed to create a halo over her head and she looked like an angel in thought. She pointed one finger in the air decisively. "I think I have the perfect blend for you," said Guinan with a warm smile.

Crius rolled up beside him. "Wing slugs. A whole plate."

Korotkin squinted at the tall Orion and turned his lip up. "Seriously? For breakfast?" He'd tried them once and only once. Well, one bite.

The vile little creatures were a breed of bruise-black flying slug with small membranous wings and a hot burning mucus that covered their squishy bodies like slime. The smell and taste was revolting. Not surprising as they could be found in the wet marsh lands of most Rigel system planets. For some insane reason the Orions had made a delicacy of them.

The thought of putting one of those black sloppy molluscs anywhere near his lips sent a shiver through him.

"I eat them every morning," boasted the big green officer.

He had to be kidding. Korotkin looked to Guinan. She nodded.

"The burning in my mouth keeps me alert for the duration of my shift," Crius went on. "Much more effective than your coffee."

Leonid shivered again. "It's a shame I already ordered." If he had to touch one of those things he'd turn as green as his Orion friend.

Guinan returned from the replicator with Leonid's coffee and added some fresh ingredients to it from her collection of liquids and condiments under the bar.

"I call this…the _Klingon cattleprod_," Guinan said dramatically, and pushed it across the bar.

Korotkin took a tentative sip of the boiling black oil. It was as thick as it looked and he could taste the Klingon raktajino in the mix. There were other tastes in there. Landras blend could be one of them. He asked, but Guinan simply gave him that knowing smile of hers.

There was something angelic about that woman, thought Korotkin, and not just because of the pink halo. It was something regal, or god-like. Her dark face always held a soothing quality, old and wise yet beautiful. Her smile was like no other. It literally lit him up inside to see. It was heavenly. Maybe, he thought, everyone would become as wise and esoteric as Guinan if they could live hundreds of years.

He took another sip of his Klingon cattleprod, this time bigger. It was spicy too. And strong. Damn strong. He gave the bar-angel a beaming grin. "Thanks!"

She gave a cordial tip of her head and floated away again.

Beside Korotkin, Crius stood tall. He was 28 and, like most Orion men, well-muscled. His thick jet-black hair was upwardly mobile with trimmed sideburns that reached his jawline and flared out like mutton chops. He reminded Korotkin of one of his father's favourites – the old rock-and-roller Elvis Presley.

Then he remembered something he wanted to ask the security chief.

"Hey, Crius. Did you see the captain's face when she got a look at that old Warbird?"

"I was behind her. I saw the back of her head."

"Well, _I_ saw her face and believe me, for a second there it looked like her worst nightmare came true."

"She _did_ become tense," he acknowledged. "And when Commander Data spoke to her afterwards I did get the impression they recognised the ship. Perhaps they faced one before."

"It looked more personal than that," said Korotkin. "She looked…_frightened_, Crius. I've never seen her get frightened over _anything_."

"You haven't been here long."

"Still… you think it could be something… worse than normal?"

"Like what?"

He held back for a second before committing himself. "Like…_para_normal?"

The scepticism on Crius' face was expected. "You mean 'supernatural'?" he asked with obvious disdain. But he wondered if it was possible that the old fairy tales were true.

"I did hear that she's … one of The Six," Korotkin said under his breath.

"Everyone's heard that old rumour."

"You should ask her about it."

Surprised, the Orion looked to the young Terran. "…I should?"

"Yeah, 'course. For security. What if that Warbird's a zombie-infested demon warship?"

Crius shook his head at the boy. "I think it's the counsellor you should be talking to, kid."

"Pff."

The far glass door of the lounge opened and Captain Rosenberg stepped through.

The smell of the wing slugs arrived right before Guinan slapped the plate on the bar top.

Crius rubbed his hands together and threw one down his gullet.

Leonid winced and turned away.

The captain was taking a seat near the central window and Guinan said; "Why don't you ask her now? She's here."

The Orion pointed to the junior officer. "He's the one who wants to know."

"You don't?" needled Korotkin. "You're head of security. It's your job to know these things."

Crius tore a slug in half and chewed at it as he spoke. "I heard the captain hates to be asked about her past. That's why no one ever does."

"What's the matter, big guy?" he teased. "You're not afraid of a little old lady. Are you?"

"She won't be captain for much longer," Guinan reminded him. "This could be your last chance."

"Last chance for _what_?"

"To find out about the past," she said softly. "In my experience, the past can influence the future more than anything you do in the present."

Crius stared at the civilian. He wasn't even sure what she'd just said. "Rhetorical and senseless."

Leonid gave him a nudge before he could pick up another mollusc. "Come on, Crius. Aren't you curious? If all the history is true? The Years of Magic? The Demon Wars?"

Crius was beginning to feel ganged up on. He strategically countered their attack; "History's written by the victors, kid. And it's full of fantastic stories. Especially human history." He took a slug, put its wing in his mouth and crunched it off. "Legionnaires in the hundreds fending off enemies in the thousands," he continued. "The ancient Spartans and the Persians at Thermopylae. And Starfleet fighting monsters with sorcery." He shook his head. "Exaggeration and invention. If all that stuff was true, where are all the wizards and monsters now?" He opened his arms out and searched the room to make his point. "Nah," he said, waving half a slug at Korotkin, "I think no one asks the captain about the past because, secretly, they know they'll look like a dumb cadet who read too many fantasy novels."

Korotkin realised he wasn't going to win him over. "Then you don't believe she's from an alternate dimension?"

"You mean hundreds of years in the past of an alternate quantum universe where all the laws of nature are completely different, allowing for the existence of magic? Why wouldn't I believe that?"

"Things can look like magic in our world too," reasoned Guinan. "Vulcan mind-melding, Betazoid telepathy, the elecrogenic abilities of the Aquiinarians. Super powers to anyone who can't explain them."

"Exactly," Korotkin agreed. "Even El-Aurians have senses we don't understand."

As an El-Aurian, Guinan couldn't argue with that.

"_You_ should speak to the captain," Crius advised him. "You're obviously more interested in the past than me."

Korotkin shared a look with the barkeeper.

The fact that Crius knew so much about historic battles – even old Earth ones – suggested he was interested in past events. Military ones anyway.

"So," Korotkin replied, "if that Warbird decides to come after us next, you don't wanna know who it is? You're responsible for ship safety and that includes _my_ safety. …I'm not feeling much love from you right now."

Crius replied with a look of disgust.

The big guy could take a face full of wing slugs but a bit of love for his workmates repulsed him? Korotkin had one last gambit to try. "Okay. But ask yourself this: if Captain Rosenberg isn't from the past, then how come she's retiring at sixty? She should have a good twenty years left in her. But look at her. She looks at sixty like we would at eighty. Think about that."

Crius did. The boy had a point.

Guinan shared a smile with Korotkin and challenged the tough Orion; "Still too scared to ask?"

Crius looked across the room at the petite and elderly captain.

Scared?

Never!

He turned to Korotkin with a warning finger. "Don't touch my wing slugs."

"Yeah, like that's an issue."

Crius headed off confidently, faltered, stopped, and came back. "What if she _isn't_ one of The Six?"

* * *

Commander Data sat in the Enterprise-F captain's chair and quietly plotted subterfuge.

He had convinced his captain to take it easy on her last day and take time to prepare for duty. He had utilised sound logic as a reasoning tool. Firstly, he'd told her, he would soon be in permanent command and needed to get used to the position. Secondly, he'd reasoned, she had to get used to _not_ being in command.

He was pleased that his ruse to get Willow off the bridge had worked. It meant he had the opportunity to do his work without her knowledge. The optimum time to send his secret subspace message had arrived. He got up, descended two steps, and crossed to ops. "Were you able to locate the planetoid, Wesley?" his voice was hushed.

"Yeah," Crusher answered quietly.

"Please prepare a secure channel in the Captain's readyroom."

Wesley complied and Data headed for the private room, knowing that, when he finished, he would delete all record of the communication from the subspace logs.

Captain Rosenberg would have no idea what he was planning until it was too late.

* * *

Willow sat alone in Ten-Forward. She'd been kicked off her own bridge by her first officer, but she didn't mind. Data had given a convincing argument. At the end of the day, she was already sixty and technically retired. So, he would report to Command about the encounter, and she would go to her quarters and get freshened up for her last day on the job.

She shook her head and rubbed a hand across her mouth as she thought about that. She was Willow Rosenberg… and she was retiring. Where the hell did time go?

She could hear people hammering away at the dartboard in the games bar behind the planterbox of shrubbery. That was the drinks section. Though she was only drinking, she preferred the relative tranquillity of the larger restaurant area this morning with its array of giant windows into warped subspace.

Guinan arrived at her table with a drink – an iced Earl Grey with lemon and syrup "The usual, Captain?"

"Oh…um…yes, thank you." She hadn't even ordered yet.

The El-Aurian barkeeper always seemed to know the right thing to do or the right thing to say at the right time. Willow understood that Guinan had been posted to an earlier Enterprise – the D – also captained by Jean-Luc Picard. She understood that when the E version was built as a less family-oriented vessel during a time of conflict, Guinan had moved on. Now she was back and, according to Wes, without having aged a day. She thought Guinan was very lucky to be of a species that lived hundreds of years. Even the humans here could last well over a century. She knew one or two that were almost 120 and still getting about.

"Security meeting?" pried Guinan.

"What?"

"Big security thing."

"Oh, no. All my meetings are done." By that, she meant all of them. Forever.

"I meant Crius," Guinan replied, drawing her attention to the large lieutenant hovering around awkwardly.

_Oh_, realised Willow, _**That**__ big security thing_. "We don't have anything scheduled."

"Really?" Guinan said, feigning surprise. "It's just, from the look on his face I thought you were replacing him." At that, she smiled and sailed away gracefully.

He did look kind of worried. The way he was gawking at her was beginning to annoy.

"Something wrong, Lieutenant?" asked the captain.

Crius tried to speak then stopped, looking toward the bar, then back at her.

"If you're going to stand there glaring at me you may as well sit down and do it."

He complied and sat across from her at the table. He figured that the rudeness of older Terrans was down to their patience being worn away by age like stone by the passage of water. He respected their candour.

"You look ready to pop," she said to him. "Is there something on your mind?"

His captain looked impatient this morning. He had to say something. "Captain, I…wish to ask you a question…that may be important to ship security."

"I see."

She waited for it. Crius hesitated, which was unlike the aggressively opinionated Orion she knew. She'd learned it was always best to be forceful with him. "Well, come on then, let's have it. What's wrong with you?"

_Right. To the point, then._ How should he put it? "It's been my impression that asking you about the past… that it is a forbidden subject."

"Who told you that?" she snapped, then took a moment to tone down her hostility and relax. She was aware that she was tense this morning. "It's not a forbidden subject, Crius. I just think some people – most people – don't understand certain things that have happened in it. I'm a big part of that and I've come to realise that people don't ask questions when they're not really sure if they want the answers. Especially when they don't even believe in the questions."

He understood _that_, all right. Mostly.

"And there's always the fear of the truth," she went on, "which is only compounded by Starfleet's sealed records and certain events that people generally don't talk about anymore." She regarded his unsettled expression. "You don't look too sure about the question yourself."

He inhaled deeply, let it out slowly, and reflected; "Captain, when I was a first year cadet stationed on Earth, I learned of a lecture being given by an old man named Gools. Ruppet Gools. A lecture about the dangers of the occult and the threat that supernatural beings hold. He believed that, in the future, they could still be a danger, and that we would not be prepared because we were losing our fear – our belief – in the supernatural. Normally I wouldn't attend such a sermon but I was a young cadet. I always intended working in security and wanted to protect the Federation. I wanted to know all the possible dangers."

Willow held a smile back as she thought of Ruppet Gools. "And what did you make of his sermon?"

"It was…an interesting story," he answered.

"What did you _really_ make of it?"

"It sounded like nonsense, Captain," he redressed. "The scare-mongeringof a religious fanatic."

She smiled a little, though inwardly she felt sad for the lecturer whose message hadn't been given its due credit.

"I think the man you're referring to is _Rupert_ _Giles_, and he happens to be a very old and very dear friend of mine."

Yet more evidence, he realised. A pattern was emerging. The captain had links to the occult teachings of Gools – _Giles_. Connect that with her older-than-her-years appearance, and the rumours about her.

Still concerned about the possible threat from the Warbird, he felt he had to pursue what he now considered to be an investigation. He must begin his questioning.

"Captain Rosenberg," he opened.

Immediately she noticed his formal address and knew where he was heading.

"It strikes me that sixty years of age seems rather…early…to retire. In this day and age." He seemed to realise his impertinence. "If you don't mind me saying, ma'am," he added respectfully.

"Yes, but I'm not a twenty-fifth century woman," she replied straightforwardly. "Sure, I might be stronger and fitter and healthier than I would have been in my own time by this age, but I don't have the longevity of a present-day human. It's just a matter of genetics. Just a simple case of being an inferior breed of human being. Where I'm from, sixty years is a good time to quit. And, to be honest, I just don't have the energy anymore. Age has caught up with me." She thought about that. "On the outside, at least."

He examined her eyes, the pupils, and observed her demeanour. He knew her well enough to see she spoke the truth. Which meant…he had confirmation! "Then you _are_ one of The Six?"

They'd been called many things over the years. She smiled and took a sip of tea. "I suppose I am."

Crius barely contained his astonishment, and looked around to see the rest of the room going about its business. The revelation was his alone. He leaned across, saying quietly and out of character; "Did you really get teleported here by the Zombie King?"

She choked on her tea and blinked at him. "No, Crius. We didn't get teleported by the Zombie King."

He suddenly felt rather stupid. Just like that dumb cadet who read too many fantasy novels.

"It was the son of the Devil," she revealed. "And he commanded an army of Demons_ and_ Zombies."

Still no sign of a lie. "And… and you and those who came with you… you were wizards who defeated this Demon Master by… by summoning the Lord of Death from the after-realm to take his evil spirit back to…" – what was the human word? – "…Hell?"

She smiled at the forty years of Chinese whispers. "…No. I channelled the spirit of the Wiccan Goddess to make him mortal, Buffy cut off his head, and Xander shot him with a phaser."

On one hand, she found she was actually enjoying his reaction, as Crius struggled to remain composed. On the other, It felt surreal talking about the old gang and those events again.

She heard a low exhalation of awe from behind her.

"Wow…" It was Korotkin at the next table, leaning over the back of a comfy chair.

"If you're going to earwig you may as well sit closer so I don't have to strain myself," said the captain.

Korotkin jumped up and brought his coffee over to their table. Crius was eyeing him down expectantly.

"My wing slugs?"

_Huh?_… then it clicked. "Oh…" He looked back to the bar.

Crius followed his gaze in time to catch sight of Ensign Respin discovering the Orion's breakfast platter sitting abandoned on the bar top. Respin picked out one of the winged molluscs and bit off the tip. It took less than a second for his face to turn sour. He spat the caustic chunk back onto the plate and shoved it aside aggressively.

Leonid winced and turned back to the table; Crius burning holes in his head with his screwed-up eyes.

Willow watched them with a childish twinkle in her eye. She thought Leonid Korotkin looked like a pale young surfer, often wanting to command him to say 'Yo, duuude' among other totally tubular things, and that Crius had Vanilla Ice hair. A green Vanilla Ice. Spearmint Ice!

In the private little room in her mind where the teenage Willow still lived, she giggled away silently to herself.

Thankfully, the larger portion of her brain housed a mature, well-travelled starship captain. "As I was saying… It was the perfect marriage of magic, technology, and a good old Klingon axe that did the job in the end. …It was a real team effort. A Slay-Team effort."

Korotkin sat wide-eyed. "Then… all that stuff really happened? The battle of Epsilon Ursae?"

She laughed at his youthful enthusiasm. "Yes, Leonid."

The stars outside were shooting at them at speeds she still could barely fathom. "It seems so far away now – in another life. But yes, it happened."

"So…where are all the monsters now?" asked Crius. "Why is it we're not surrounded by the beasts of the after-realm? Why isn't everyone doing magic all over the place?"

"Well, that's a story in itself. A long one."

Crius had more urgent issues. "Then, may I ask, that old Romulan Warbird… did you recognise it?"

"I thought so," she admitted. "For a moment."

"Who did you believe it was?"

Her face darkened before them. "Just a ghost from the past. A very old ghost."

Korotkin perked up eagerly on hearing the word 'ghost', as if she meant it literally.

Crius waited for more information.

Did she really want to get into this now after all this time?

But, sometimes, wasn't it necessary to address the past? To exorcise demons – sometimes literal ones – and come to terms with everything before being able to move on? And she was about to move on for possibly the last time. A big deal. It deserved a big exorcism to kick it off.

Kick those heavy chips off her shoulder. Face the life behind her in order to be at peace with the years ahead.

She sighed, leaned back and undid her tunic clasp, letting the flap fall open.

"Okay, if we're going to do this, I should start from the beginning. And I'm going to need another one of these." She raised her glass to get the attention of the bar staff, then settled into her soft chair. "There were six of us…and we came from a place called Sunnydale, California–"

"I know that one," said Korotkin, waving time forward with his hand. "What happened next? Why didn't you go home? You had a dimension-shift transporter device, right? Some people say The Six _did_ go home – that you being one of them is just mindless gossip." He eyeballed Crius accusingly.

"Isn't all this classified?" questioned the Orion, prompting Leonid to give him a soft kick under the table. The boy wanted to hear more whether it was classified or not.

"Classified?" repeated Willow. "No. Just… not advertised." She'd often wondered if perhaps the 'Sunnydale effect' had come with them across dimensions. "There's something about the supernatural that people find easy to turn away from when they can. A collective selective ignorance of sorts. Which isn't really a problem here anymore since it's easier to ignore something that isn't around."

"It's magic, isn't it?" proffered the young helmsman. "The supernatural has a magic. Like a cloaking field."

She'd never really thought about it like that. "You might be right."

He gazed at her with those bright eyes. "So… you really _can_ do magic?"

Crius butted in with another question; "How did you come to be a Starfleet officer? What were you before you knew of this world?"

She didn't know who to answer first. "I was a student. And a witch. Back then I didn't really know what I wanted to be."

"I wanted to be Star Man of the Hero Squadron," noted Korotkin, raising an eyebrow on each of their faces. "I was twelve," he added as a justification, then changed the subject; "I bet you didn't imagine having a forty-year career here." He wasn't sure _he_ could at this early stage in his life.

"Do you remember those days?" asked Crius. "The day you learned you would remain here?"

"No, and yes," she said, answering them both respectively.

The two young men before her settled back into their chairs, ready to listen to the tales she might tell them.

"I remember that day as clearly as I remember, well, fighting with Romulans this morning," she began, drifting back. "As for where it would lead… I had absolutely no idea what was in store…"


	3. The Final Hours

-** Buffy Meets Star Trek 2**-

_**The End & The Beginning**_

- The Final Hours -

**03**

"The year was 2376 and I was only eighteen. The Enterprise-E was under repair from our great space war with the armies of Darkness… and we were onboard the ship that would take us on our final journey home…"

* * *

The _U.S.S Phantom_.

There was no saucer. No engines on sticks. It was a small, compact machine with side-mounted warp engines that hugged tight up to her body. She was sleek and mean – a mark-2 Defiant class, similar to the USS _Defiant_ that came before her, but with a little more of an aggressive character. She had a rounder look. The nose was less prominent and the engines had a sharper appearance.

The Scooby Gang had been told that Demons were still loose out somewhere in the galaxy and that this new Defiant redesign would be tasked with rounding them up.

It wasn't the Enterprise. It was small, cramped, and powerful. Built for war with the Borg and now reassigned to an equally dangerous task. But first, before a new crew would take her out on that mission, she had one special inaugural flight to undertake with a small team from the Enterprise in command.

Hanging over the planet Earth deep within the cavernous Spacedock, the USS Phantom, connected to the station by umbilical walkways, hovered silently like a small tank in a vast circular parking garage.

Onboard, her temporary crew and six interdimensional guests prepared for a trip back in time.

* * *

The Sunnydale group found themselves being shepherded onto the bridge of the Phantom which, it was fair to say, was packed full to the brim. They were ushered out of the way and into an alcove at the rear of the room where Captain Picard invited them to witness the maiden voyage of this new little battle ship. For them, it was nice to be taking a space trip that didn't involve Demons and death.

Buffy was back in black, Giles had reverted to tweed, and Xander had relinquished both his borrowed Starfleet uniform and Han Solo Gallactica outfit and returned to casuals, but his styled dark beard remained. Along with Willow, Anya and Spike, they stood together at the far rear beside a thin blond-haired man. He wore a straight-edged creaseless suit of black and watched every move like a nazi sentinel. He was a Temporal Agent; there to ensure the security of their own timeline.

The bridge around them, oval with a single-level deck and in shades of deep purple, had seating for six.

Picard had the centre chair. To his right at the engineering station sat Chief Engineer Geordi La Forge. Standing over him was a second engineer in casual clothing. He was Miles O'Brien, Professor of Engineering at Starfleet Academy. Beside them at tactical sat the Klingon, Worf.

Ahead of the captain, between he and the small viewing screen, Commander William T. Riker had the helm. To the left sat Data at the science and Ops station.

It was a small space for such a number of people.

Deanna, also to Picard's left, reported from the communications post; "We're receiving the all-clear from Spacedock, Captain."

"Power her up, Number One," said Picard. "Take her out."

"Aye aye, sir," Riker acknowledged, loving every second. He was thrilled to be giving the new bird a test flight.

Dwarfed by the great opening leading out of Spacedock, the small vessel slipped through easily at half impulse.

Soon they were clear of Earth and the station. Giles was asked to confirm the date and time of their departure from their own reality. Going back eighteen days, he was fairly certain of the time. His companions agreed; about five past eight in the evening, when Giles had finished his long-winded tale about the Rhamhal myth. The myth that turned out _not_ to be a myth.

La Forge keyed in for 2pm to give them six hours to prepare for the final phase of the trip. "Warp field configured, Captain. We're ready to generate the temporal vortex."

"Helm and vessel ready, sir," Riker reported.

"Lay in a course for the twenty-first century, Will," said Picard. He pointed to the stars. "Engage."

* * *

A sizzling green gateway of energy exploded before them on the viewer and the Phantom vanished in time.

* * *

One hour after taking a dive through the Borg vortex, the ship hung in stealth-mode over the 21st century Earth of the Starfleet dimension, year: 2000.

They'd spent the time locating the precise transport co-ordinates in this reality to set the Scoobs in the correct spot in their own universe where the Magic Box _would_ be. The multidimensional transporter was programmed with the unique signature of their cellular patterns in order to beam them back into their own dimension.

And now, while La Forge and Data worked their calculations, the Scooby Gang sat down together for this: their Last Supper.

It was the last time they would eat in this world of starships and aliens. Their last opportunity to eat food magically replicated from stored energy. Their last opportunity to eat whatever their unlimited imaginations could come up with. Their last chance to eat for free.

Buffy, given all they'd been through and how much they owed him, had even invited Spike to join them. It was the least she could do after leaving him behind on Epsilon with a spear through his gut. She even let him drink blood, all be it from a metal cup so they couldn't see.

A mound of food lay before the Sunnydale team. Everything from salads to steaks. From pasta and pizza to strawberries and cream. From sushi and noodles to apple pie and ice cream. The only thing too big for the food machine was the wild boar with apple gag that Xander had tried to order.

They'd shoved two of the metal tables together to make a banquet bench for six. It hadn't been easy – the tables and chairs were mag-locked to the deck for safety. Buffy and Spike had used all their super strength to shove one of the well-rooted tables almost a metre before Willow found the magnetic release.

As they tucked in, it dawned on them that their imaginations might have been a little big for their stomachs.

It wasn't long before Willow collapsed back in her seat, the first to admit defeat. She cradled her swollen belly and looked around the room, and at the happy faces of her friends.

"I think I'm gonna miss this place," she said, surprising Buffy. "A little," she added. "It's got outer space and…aliens…and stuff. It's kinda cool, don't you think?"

"She's got a point, ya know," said Xander, surprising them all. "It's nice to go back to good old bad old Sunnydale, but… think of all the amazing things we could see and discover here. Home's gonna feel a bit like the Iron Age after this." He waved a replicated drumstick.

"I just can't believe we're finally going back," Buffy said with yearning. "I feel like we've been here forever."

"I know," agreed the young witch. "But…It's gonna be harder to leave than I thought." A smile lit up her face. "But I can't wait to see Tara."

"She can't wait to _boink_ Tara," Anya whispered in Xander's ear.

Spike swallowed a chunk of rare steak and washed it down with O-negative. "I can't wait to get the hell out of here. This place is suffocatin'."

"We got the _Hell_ out of here last week," Buffy reminded them. "It's time to get the _us_ out of here."

"Hear, hear," agreed Spike and turned to Will. "You can keep yer spaceships. I'll take a dank crypt and a graveyard full of uglies over this any day."

Buffy led them in a toast to going home.

"There's gotta be _something_ you're gonna miss about the future," said Will.

"Free stuff," replied Xander through a face full of chocolate cake. "I'm gonna miss all the free stuff."

"Like all the food and clothes…of which I can take none with me," grumbled Anya. "I'm going to miss not being able to go anywhere or do anything whenever I want."

Xander made a double-take. "What? Who needs to go anywhere? Everything you'll ever need's right here – games, virtual reality rooms, restaurants. Well… maybe not here but on the bigger ships."

"I miss the smell of fresh air," sighed Giles.

Buffy frowned. "Fresh air smells?"

"And home cooked bacon." Rupert sniffed the air nostalgically. "First thing I shall do in the morning is make bacon butties. You're all invited for breakfast."

"So Giles'll celebrate his return by slaughtering a pig," joked the Slayer.

"Sounds like a plan," said Spike. "Fancy bleedin' it first?"

"I'm fairly certain I'll opt for the pre-slaughtered variety."

Xander licked his lips and rubbed his hands together in anticipation of more free food. "Bacon butties all round. Good one, Giles." Then he whispered to Buffy; "What's a butty?"

"…I think it's like a bun," she whispered back, pointing at her ass cheek. "Buns, butt, butty. It's a Brit thing. Best not to ask."

"Gotcha."

"There's really nothing you'll miss when we leave?" Willow asked again, astonished at how easily they could shrug this universe away.

Xander picked out a fat jam and cream scone. "I already mentioned all the free stuff."

"People," said Buffy. "I think I'll miss the future people. I wish folks back home could be so…" She searched for an appropriate adjective.

"Annoyingly prissy?" offered Spike.

"…No."

"'Cos there's only so much politeness you can put up with before it becomes down-right offensive," he explained. "I don't trust people this prim n' proper. The world's not like that."

The Slayer shook her head at him.

"That's our world," said Will. "Not theirs. They've evolved."

"Please…" Spike tried not to laugh. "I've been around a while, Red, and believe me… People don't evolve."

Xander could see an argument a-brewin'. "I think I might be over my fear of space," he threw in from left field.

"Really?" Will said with more surprise than Xander would've liked.

"…Yeah. Doesn't mean I'm not looking forward to getting back on solid ground, mind. I couldn't _live_ out here… But takin' a vacation, that's not so bad." He gave Will a big supportive smile. "It _is_ kinda cool."

She smiled back gratefully.

Buffy suddenly groaned. "D'oh. …I think my stomach's about to go Supernova."

Xander anticipated the shock wave and raised his plate as a shield. "Deflectors on full, Captain."

Soon they were all so full that a serious decision was made. Games were needed to work it off.

It came down to a choice between Xander's Twister and Willow's Scrabble.

"Scrabble's boring," complained Xander. "We need a fun work-out."

Willow gave it some thought. "We could make a Piñata."

"Buff?" asked Xander.

Reluctant to take sides, she eventually came down on the side of Twister.

"How're we gonna play Twister?" challenged Will. "Somehow I doubt a big plastic mat with coloured circles is gonna be in the replicators here."

Xander pondered on it for a second then snapped his fingers.

He knew what he needed. He thought about asking where he could get the items from the guard outside the door – the human security officer assigned to Spike (because he couldn't harm humans without sizzling his brain). Then he remembered where they'd got all the yummies.

"Can these machines make other stuff besides food?" he asked Will.

Two minutes later, Buffy, Xander and Willow were on the floor of the mess hall with replicated crayons drawing circles on the deck. While Xander worked with a crayon in each hand making rows of blue and yellow circles, Buffy had the green. He'd avoided giving Willow the yellow crayon. She was creating six perfect red discs in a nice neat row. But she didn't look too happy.

"I don't know if we should be colouring the floor in," she said.

"Relax, Will," Xander replied. "You've seen how spotless everything is in this place. I'm sure they have something stronger than Mr Clean around here. They'll get this up in a jiffy."

When they were done they stood and admired their handy work.

Even Willow was impressed. But Buffy spotted a new problem.

"What about the spinny arrow thing?"

Xander's face dropped.

"The computer can do it," said Will. "Computer – prepare a list of the following options and randomly select from them on command."

The computer chirped and the friendly female voice replied; 'Please enter your selection list.'

"Selection one – left foot red, selection two – left foot blue…" and she went on until all appendages and colours were covered.

They all started out together, even Giles after some persuasion, as the computer gave them their commands. But the old man was soon out and the witch not long after. It wasn't easy when they were so dangerously full.

Spike had acted like the game was stupid but it was obvious to all that he was having a blast. Until he collapsed on his back (with a little help from the Slayer). It was his own fault. Whatever order the computer gave him he always managed to wrap himself around her and she gave him a few warnings before slamming him down.

Then it came down to Xander and the Slayer.

It all went well until Xander's elbow in Buffy's face sent them crashing to the deck in a heap.

When their allotted time in the mess hall was up, they cleared their plates into the recycling unit and went to spend their last few hours relaxing with the crew. Willow joined Data and Geordi as they finalised their equations, Giles spent some time with Doctor Crusher, Xander and Anya got a room, and Buffy went to see Worf. He introduced her to Klingon bloodwine and talked of his people's home world.

At 8pm they were called to the bridge.

It was time to jump out of the frying pan and into the Hellmouth.

* * *

When they arrived on the bridge, Counsellor Troi, Geordi, Worf, Riker, and the captain were waiting for them. Picard gave them ten minutes to say their goodbyes before Riker took them to the transporter room.

Troi and La Forge offered their farewells as Picard approached Giles. To Willow, it was like the two captains of their respective worlds wishing each other fair sailing.

"All the best to you, Rupert," said the captain.

"And you, Jean-Luc." He shook Picard's hand. "Goodbye."

Buffy outstretched her hands reluctantly and offered Worf her bat'leth. The sword of Gor'agh. "I guess I have to give this back."

"I am afraid so," Worf acknowledged, accepting the weapon. "However, It will _always_ be here for you. And you will always be welcome on Kronos. There, the story of the Slayer will be told for centuries." He stepped back. He wasn't one for long goodbyes, it seemed.

"Cool," she replied, and joined her friends.

Commander Riker stepped across to the exit. The door slid away and he offered the opening to them. "Well, this is the moment you've all been waiting for. Let's get you home."

Looks were exchanged between the Sunnydale posse. For a second it seemed none of them would take the first step. Then, from the back, Spike pushed through with a huff, looked at the Scoobs like they were dysfunctional, and went out the door. The others quickly took his lead and left the Phantom bridge for the last time.

Captain Picard returned to the centre chair. "Have a safe voyage home," he said to them all.

* * *

They arrived at the transporter room of the Phantom to find the Irishman there with Doctor Crusher and Data.

"I hope you haven't lost your touch, Professor," said Riker as he entered.

Miles smiled back at him. "Well, it's been a while. But don't worry. Operating a transporter…it's like riding a bicycle. So I hear," he answered in jest.

Giles approached the doctor, after cleaning his spectacles and returning them to his face.

Crusher sighed. "Well…it's been the longest three weeks of my life."

"It hasn't been the worst," he replied with the coy smile of a shy schoolboy.

The doctor's shoulders dropped a touch and she put her hands to his forearms.

Something passed between them, something unspoken and intimate. It gave the Scoobs cause to wonder what exactly those two had been up to.

"Goodbye, Rupert," Doctor Crusher said finally.

He took one of her hands delicately in both of his. "Beverly."

Spike, altogether bored with the long goodbye, leaned in to Buffy and said softly yet harshly; "All the clothes he could have replicated, and he's _still_ wearin' tweed."

"It's been a heck of a trek," Willow pronounced cutely as she stood before her android friend.

"A heck of a _star_ trek," Xander threw in.

"I wish we could have known each other better, Data," she admitted.

"Considering the likelihood of our encountering each other being eight thousand four hundred and ninety seven billion to one," Data responded, "I am thankful the opportunity was afforded us to meet at all."

Surprisingly she gave him a hug to which he rather mechanically patted her on the back.

"Bye, Data."

"Goodbye, Willow."

Spike, rolling his eyes, moved onto the transporter pad, more eager than ever to get back to the demon-infested hellhole of Sunnydale.

Riker offered Xander a hand to shake. "I don't think I'll ever understand your world. But have a safe journey back to it."

He accepted the outstretched hand with a grateful nod.

The five companions stepped up onto the pad and joined Spike there.

Buffy took one final look at the room. It wasn't the Enterprise but it bore all the hallmarks of this universe.

An odd chirp sounded at O'Brien's controls and Data went to investigate.

"That didn't sound good," whispered Xander.

"There's still a slight phase variance in the matrix," Miles reported, seeing the concern on their faces. Especially Xander's. "Oh, it's nothing to worry about. It's a one-off transport. If it was a permanent installation then we'd have a problem." They didn't look any wiser for his explanation. "The device is designed to work independently so the thing kicked up a fuss when we planted it in the chamber there. It doesn't get on so well with the phase transition coils." They didn't laugh. "Anyway, let's get you home."

A moment later, Miles reported ready.

This was it.

Riker turned from O'Brien and regarded them finally. "Perhaps we'll meet again," he said, and then; "Energise, Mr O'Brien."

Buffy watched the curly-haired Irishman run his fingers across the controls and look up to the platform where they stood. Their eyes met and he gave her a smile. She didn't have time to return the gesture. For Buffy, Willow, Giles, Spike, Xander and Anya, it was time to leave.

The transporter began to take effect…

…and the world of their star trek adventure disappeared.


	4. The Stranded

-** Buffy Meets Star Trek 2**-

_**The End & The Beginning**_

- The Stranded -

**04**

Willow remembered the long transport process.

The fizzle of the confinement beam. The brightness that consumed her with its tingly numbness as her body divided into atoms and spread out across the galactic divide. Spinning, falling, churning…

…Then the world reformed…

The six-man Sunnydale Gang rematerialised on the transporter pad of the U.S.S. Phantom.

Xander checked himself over and looked to the others in dazed silence.

"We're still here," observed Anya.

O'Brien puzzled over his controls looking rather flushed. "Um…I'll just try that again."

"Yeah. How about without the encore this time," said Spike, turning to the others. "Now you lot know what it bloody feels like," he scoffed. For once it wasn't just him left stranded.

Miles had stopped his button-pressing. He studied the computer terminal with a look of confusion, bordering on panic.

Riker saw this and moved across to see what the situation was. "Problem, Chief?"

The Scoobs watched in bemusement as the two men mumbled briefly before O'Brien's look of concern spread to Riker's bearded face. The pair examined the readouts before them and shared a worrying glance before staring up at the transporter pad where the six foreigners waited tensely.

"Double check this," Riker said to O'Brien. He turned to Buffy and her team. "It seems we're experiencing some technical issues. If you'll come with me, please."

Willow, Xander and Anya began hesitantly to step down from the pad.

Buffy didn't budge. "What's going on?"

"Just a technical hold-up for the time being," Riker assured her. "We can wait in the mess hall until we're ready to try again."

At the back, Spike stood firm. "Hey, I'm not goin' anywhere but back where we came from."

Buffy's eyes met Riker's and she saw in him something deadly serious and she knew arguments were pointless. "Spike–"

"There's nothin' to talk about here," he carried on. "So get that bloody machine workin' and put us back!"

"Spike!" she snapped. "Do as he says."

He didn't like it, but Spike respected her tone. He followed her as Riker led them away again.

Beverly shared a look with a bewildered Giles as the doors closed behind him. She turned to Data who, in turn, turned to Miles.

O'Brien's face was red and troubled.

* * *

A blue shirt and an alien yellow shirt were having a snack when they returned to the mess hall. Riker excused them, then spotted what looked like coloured crayon all over the deck. It wasn't a stretch to figure who was responsible. He stopped the alien officer – a tall X-Files type creature – and gave him instructions before they left.

"I'll be back shortly," he said to the Scoobs before the door closed. Spike's guard was back outside, they noticed.

Xander's skin was still tingling, which he thought was weird. He'd been teleported once before but under such stressful circumstances he'd barely even noticed at the time. Now he couldn't even remember what that experience had been like. But he sure as hell remembered that last little ride through the beamer.

"Whoa," he said, rubbing at the numbness in his arms. "Ya didn't warn me about _that_."

Buffy felt the same sensation. "That wasn't normal."

"What's going on?" pressed Anya.

Spike stomped around the room. "I'll tell ya what's goin' on. There's a mess out there in need of tidyin' and they're gonna expect _us_ to clean it up."

"You mean the rogue Demons?" asked Willow.

"Sure enough. I'll wager when Captain Potato-head prances in here with talk of 'technical issues', that's when they'll try and recruit us."

The door opened and the X-Files alien re-entered with a strange hand-held device. He watched them carefully as he knelt on the floor and began removing the crayon marks with a light beam.

Xander was right. No need for Mr Clean in the 24th century.

Giles picked up where Spike had left off; "The last thing we need to listen to right now are your paranoid delusions."

A quiet moment passed.

Anya had taken a seat at one of the tables. "I'm bored of here. I'm ready to go home _now_."

"And so say all of us, okay," Xander assured her. "They just need to fix their machine. That's all."

The alien finished his janitorial work when Spike went all up in his grill: "Yea, right, like there's anythin' even wrong with it."

"Shut up, Spike," commanded the Slayer. "Sit down…stand up…go over there…whatever. Just…shut up." She wasn't in the mood for him right now. She was worried.

He opted for 'go over there' and went to the farthest corner table to scowl and brood vampirically.

They were left there for a long time, it seemed.

It was long enough for Buffy's calm to become panic and for her panic to turn into

anger. She was even starting to fear that Spike was right about them being held in this world to go Demon hunting for the Starfleets.

And then there was the new alien security man at the door. He'd cleaned the floor then stayed, a gun at his hip. She couldn't tell from his alien face whether he was nervous or suspicious of them.

"Xander, why is there a guard at the door?" Buffy asked under her breath.

"It's Spike's chaperone, remember?"

"That's the human guard outside," she pointed out. "Why is there another guard now?"

He had no answer. None he liked.

"She's right," Spike whispered from his corner. "This's a prison cell. We should make a break now. Willow – you can work a transporter, right?"

"What? No."

"You can fly a soddin' space shuttle just fine."

"Yeah, that's basically just a flying car. It's like a computer game. You're talking about sending a bunch of _us_ across dimensions in little pieces. Lives are at stake. I'm not even going there, crazy vampire guy."

"But…if you _had_ to…?" asked the Slayer.

She hit Buffy with a set of wide eyes, as if to accuse her of being crazy too.

Buffy sat.

The doors opened finally and the alien guard stepped aside.

Captain Picard entered with Riker and O'Brien. They looked severe.

Buffy shot up before they could open their mouths. "What the hell's going on? We're done here. Send us home."

Spike came from the back and the gang drew into an almost offensive huddle.

Picard put his hands out to calm them and sat down at the table. Buffy took a seat.

"I have some… serious news," Picard began. "Some very bad news."

"What kind of bad news?" Xander fired back.

"It's the machine thing, isn't it?" said Anya. "It doesn't work."

Willow sat down beside Buffy. She was shaking. "We _can_ go home, can't we?" She latched onto Buffy's arm for security.

"What kind of bad news?" Xander repeated louder.

"Please." Picard put his hands up again.

Buffy burned holes through his eyes with her own and, forcing calm, she said; "What bad news?"

"I'm afraid… we can't send you back."

"What?" – from Anya.

"Why the hell not?" – Xander.

"What'd I tell ya!" – Spike.

"Three weeks ago you told us we'd be able to leave," Buffy reminded them. "You're sending us back _now_!"

"Damn right you are!" shot Spike.

Giles slapped a palm down on the metal tabletop and waited for silence. "Let him speak."

The smooth-headed captain shifted uncomfortably. "It's difficult to explain."

"Try," said Anya.

Picard looked to each of them in condolence. "We can't send you home because… Because you are already there."

Silence.

Spike was uncommonly quiet all of a sudden. He'd expected excuses but that hadn't been one of them.

Xander broke the thick dead air. "Come again?"

"The transport was successful," said Miles. "You made it back."

"We're still here," Anya pointed out. "If we made it back then why are we here?"

"Like Captain Picard said, it's not easy to explain."

"You're trying to tell us we can't go home," Buffy retorted. "You sure as hell better explain why."

Picard deferred to O'Brien.

The Professor looked like he'd been thrown on the spot but he tried to get the situation across; "Okay… at first the transport seemed to be going fine. Your patterns were strong and entering quantum flux as predicted. Then it seemed like you were breaking up, like you'd hit a wall and were bounced back and scattered. I did what I could to pull the pieces together and figured it was safer to rematerialise you here until we could identify the problem. Only, when I looked, something was off with the phase transition coils…" The six of them gaped at him with wide blank eyes. "Well, we looked into it more closely and… that phase variance in the matrix had an unanticipated effect on the transition coils. The automatic safety system tried to compensate but it caused an emergency feedback cycle… and it overcompensated, causing your patterns to refract off the aperture of the dimensional rift like a mirror splitting a single beam of light in two, creating duplicate patterns. One set went through and materialised on the other side… another set was sent back here."

Silence again, as the gang was struck dumb.

Willow took a moment to translate his words in her head. "There are copies of us?" she asked after a beat.

"Not copies," said Riker. "_You_ and _them_ are the same. Just in two places. That's why we can't attempt a second transport. You already exist there. Those other versions of yourselves have no idea what happened here." They looked like scared children to his eyes. But, more than anyone, he could sympathise with their plight. "I'm sorry," he offered, "but you're stuck with us."

Buffy sagged, unable to accept what they were saying. "This is unreal."

Giles removed his glasses and dropped them on the table. "Are you certain?"

"I'm gonna have to run some further checks and diagnostics," said Miles, "but I think it's pretty cut and dried."

"My mouth is dry," muttered Willow.

Xander got up slowly and drifted across to the food dispenser where he ordered a round of waters.

Picard got up and straightened his uniform. "This is a difficult time, I understand that, but if you could be patient a little longer until we complete our investigation."

"And then what?" said Anya.

Riker gave them a regretful look. "We'll have a better idea how to proceed once we've studied the records." He hoped the bluff would buy them some calm time.

The Starfleet men made their way out, leaving the alien security guard on the inside of the door.

Buffy could feel Willow's arms tightening like a clamp around hers and, as her eyes passed around the room, they met with Spike's. His face said it all.

'I warned you, Slayer,' his eyes were saying. 'Happened just like I said.'

* * *

The doors to the mess hall came together and Picard stopped in the corridor. He sent Miles off to start the inquiry. Riker held back.

His captain looked deflated. Probably trying to figure out the answer to Anya's question.

"I think Deanna should talk to them," he offered, "before…"

"Before their anger turns against us?" Picard finished. "Agreed, Number One."

The last thing he wanted to do was allow angst and rage to build in them. Not people with their extraordinary powers. Not when blame would fall on his head. He'd seen what became of their enemies. If he left them in their present state he had no doubt it would lead to something explosive. That was a path much better avoided.

Will pressed his comm badge. "Riker to Troi." There was a pause before she acknowledged. "Counsellor, I think we're going to need you down here."

* * *

Riker met Deanna outside the mess hall a few minutes later.

"How are they?" she asked.

"Calm enough for now. I'm just not sure how long we can keep them that way. You want to talk to them individually?"

"No. I'd like to evaluate them as a group first."

He didn't envy her one bit. "Good luck."

* * *

"How do you feel right now?"

They were sat in the metallic chairs in a circle of six with Spike sequestered in the far corner once again.

Buffy gave the counsellor a nettled squint. "How do you think?" She flapped her arms. "You tell us we can't go home, you put guards on the door, and you hold us prisoner here!"

"Is that what you think?"

Troi's calm patronising tone was beginning to grate Xander's goat. "What are we meant to think?"

Troi didn't plan on lying. Trust would be everything in this situation. "You all have…well…a tremendous amount of power. Power we don't understand. Our experiences with other lifeforms – Q being one that stands out – has taught us that powerful beings can be unpredictable. And they can be very dangerous, especially when angered. The captain's just worried. He wants to protect his crew."

"What's he think we're gonna do?" asked Xander.

"We're not monsters," Buffy attested.

"If you're lying to us about what happened, that's when there'll be a problem," Spike warned.

"You think we might be lying?"

Xander leaned in. "How do we know if all that technobabble crap is true?"

"They wouldn't lie to us," Giles uttered with remorse.

"That's right. We wouldn't."

"That right?" challenged Spike from his corner. "And when beardy face told us you'd know what we're gonna do after your investigation? You're tellin' us that wasn't a lie?"

"Perhaps he was also worried about what you might do if you lost your restraint?"

Buffy put her hands to her head and forced her hair back in a measured release of stress. "I want to see proof. Proof there are other us's back home."

"Do you think seeing the computer records will help?"

"I think it's a start. I need to know for sure. And that it _is_ us and not some evil twins. I wanna know for sure that Dawn and my mom have their Buffy. I need to know the Slayer is there."

Troi saw an opportunity to help them deal with their disbelief and denial. She knew they wouldn't give up their fight to return home unless they were convinced they had done all that was possible. "I'll have the diagnostic results brought down for you."

Deanna sensed their relief at that. She didn't feel there were any hostile intentions to worry about. They were all a lot calmer knowing they could review the transport data. Well…almost all.

She regarded the Vampire as he sat across the room watching her with his cold dead eyes.

She couldn't read him and it bothered her.

* * *

"Is it genuine?" Buffy asked an hour later. The Scoobs were alone. Xander was pacing. Anya was watching his pacing with her pacing eyes. Giles was back at the table where Buffy was hunched over Willow who studied the pocket computer in her hands.

Spike, from his corner, glanced back over his shoulder at the alien guard on the door. His eyes were scanning like a predator.

"I'd say so," Will replied. "I mean, it looks genuine to me. The code here in the files…that's basically doing the same job as our cryptographic hash functions. If anything was added or removed it'd throw this bitstring-type value all out of balance. Buffy, I've never seen security protocols this concrete. I don't see how they can mess with that."

"Willow. We're human beings. Your alien speech makes noise in our ears."

"The data here's secure. It hasn't been tampered with or forged."

"So our transport patterns did split?" Giles rubbed the bridge of his nose.

"Uh-huh," Willow affirmed.

"So we did go through?" Buffy dropped into her seat.

"Uh-huh."

"And we did get bounced back?" Xander fell into the seat beside Anya.

"Uh-huh."

The Scoobs deflated like popped balloons.

Spike slapped the wall at the truth then leaned against it to steady his rage. "I need a pissin' smoke."

Xander reached into his pants pocket and threw a wad of replicated money on the table. "Guess this's no use to us now."

Willow eyed him suspiciously and looked the stack of cash over. "Xander… all these bills are the same."

"Yeah I know. Ten dollars. A whole useless bunch of 'em."

"I mean the numbers. They're all identical."

"…Huh." He deflated further into his seat. "Figures."

* * *

The Counsellor returned a short while later with Commander Riker and gathered them in the speaking circle once more.

"Okay," Buffy began, "there are copies of us. I mean…other us's back home…"

Troi was thankful for Willow's aptitude with computers. It seemed she was able to ease the minds of the others into accepting the reality of the situation. "So, you understand now why we can't send you there again? If it succeeds, there'll be two sets of you there. And if it fails again there could be two sets of you there and still one set here."

"Which of us is real?" quizzed Xander.

"Both of you," said Riker. "There's no difference. The only difference is where you go from here. The other you is doing exactly as you would have done in their shoes. Up until the moment of rematerialisation you were the same people."

It boggled Buffy's brain. "How can you know that for sure?"

"Something similar happened to me seven years ago," explained Riker. He told them of his transporter accident and about how Thomas Riker had been created. He explained how Tom's experience had held him back from becoming the kind of man William Riker had become. William became a Commander in Starfleet and Thomas ended up as a captured Maquis traitor.

Troi nodded. "The moral being: don't let this situation destroy you. Don't let it keep you from being all you can be."

"Reach for the stars, right?" Xander japed sourly.

"Exactly," agreed Riker. "Only now you can reach for the stars and actually touch them."

The Scoobies huffed and puffed and fidgeted a while as they considered things.

"Where do we go from here?" Buffy asked of Counsellor Troi.

"There are options. Many options. With some basic training and education you can learn to adjust to this time period and you can make fresh starts doing whatever pleases you. You all have unique skills."

"What do _you_ think we should do?" said Willow with pleading in her voice.

Troi gave it careful thought before giving her a tactful response, "I think… you might want to take some time. Go to Earth – somewhere familiar with less evidence of when and where you are. Just to give yourself time to…meditate. To reflect."

"Starfleet Academy has a summer camp for youngsters at Yosemite," explained Riker. "It's empty this time of year. It's peaceful, out of the way. And I know the caretaker." He gave a knowing wink and smile.

"We weren't allowed to see any of Earth," Anya reminded them. "They locked us up for a week on that mushroom space station after the Demon War."

"Yeah," Xander added. "Apart from when they blindfolded us to take us to that court hearing thing, we were practically in solitary."

"That was when you were expected to leave here," explained Troi. "Once you are acclimatised to this place, you will be free to live your lives in your own way."

"Is that true?" Anya said to Riker.

"Provided you can learn the necessary skills and knowledge to survive here and provided you can play by our rules, then yes, you'll be free."

A meek harumpf sound came from Xander. "Wooptidoo."

* * *

The Phantom still hung in a high stealth orbit around Earth thirty minutes later.

The Scooby Gang was asked to stay in the mess a little longer until Picard returned with a plan of action. It seemed security was still required to keep them there, however, as the brown-skinned big-headed bug-eyed X-Files alien was posted in the room to block the door with a sci-fi pistol at the ready.

The human Scoobs sat in silence.

Ten minutes passed.

Twenty.

Buffy began to notice a growing physical tension in Spike's body as he remained huddled in his corner. She knew something was way off kilter with the vampire, as he hadn't said a word since they'd seen the proof of the transporter accident. And then, after thirty minutes, it happened.

Spike examined the alien officer across at the door. His weapon was in its holster and the creature seemed fairly relaxed at this point. He turned to the others to see them lost in their own inner torment. They were distant and vacant.

Spike knew he couldn't talk to them. They weren't interested in his plan or anything he had to say. He was on his own.

Thirty minutes had passed.

The guard's large head angled away from him.

It was time to make his play.

Spike leapt across the dining hall like a bullet train and slammed into the alien guard.

The officer was taken by surprise and left winded. As he went down he managed to hit the badge on his chest and make a garbled sound before Spike tore the pistol from his grip and beat it against the back of his huge skull.

Buffy jumped to her feet. "Spike!"

The guard outside opened the door and Spike was out before Buffy could stop him. The door closed in her face, locked from the outside.

* * *

Spike found himself out in the hallway faced with the human guard. He reacted fast, kicking the other man's weapon away and raising the pistol in his hands. Before he could pull the trigger, his head went off with an explosive shock from the chip in his brain. The guard made a move to tackle him down and Spike dropped his gun and suffered a second agonising lightning bolt as he ran a fist into the man's nose.

The man dropped in a pile and Spike stumbled on down the passageway.

* * *

Agent Hellström of the Federation Department of Temporal Investigations patrolled the bridge like the head honcho, overseeing every action, when Ambassador Worf's security station irrupted with a warning chirp.

Hellström sprang up beside the Klingon. "What's that?"

* * *

In the ship's cramped and simple readyroom, Picard reviewed O'Brien's report.

"I'll have to take the transporter offline to remove the multidimensional device," said Miles. "It's made a hell of a mess of the coils. That'll take time to fix." There was a moment of pause. "Sorry, sir," he added regretfully. When Picard returned a frown, Miles clarified; "New ship and all and we've already broken it. We'll do our best to have her up to spec before you hand her back."

"Thank you, Chief," replied the captain. "…Professor."

"As long as I'm on your ship, sir, I'm happy to be chief."

Picard gave him a warm grateful smile.

"Any idea what we're going to do with them, Captain?"

"With our unwilling guests? Not a damn clue, to be–" Picard's communicator cheeped.

"Worf to Picard."

"Go ahead."

"Captain, we have a situation."

* * *

The doors sprung open and Riker piled into the mess hall with Worf and security.

Buffy snapped up like a spring. "Spike got out."

"We know," said a perturbed Riker. "He's heading for the shuttle deck. A security team's on its way to stop him. What's he playing at?"

"How would we know?" Xander huffed. "He went off like a raging rocket."

"Imagine a bull in a china shop," said Anya. "With a severe distaste for china."

Buffy came forward. "Wait. If you go in with force you'll be met with force. Spike doesn't give up easily."

"If you know a better way, now is the time," said Worf.

"Let me talk to him."

* * *

Buffy found him on the shuttle deck trying to rip the door off the shuttle pod.

"Are you out of your mind?"

Spike looked up to see her leaning over the rail of the gangway. "No. But I'm outta _here_. Don't try and stop me."

"And where do you think you're gonna go?" She made her way down the ladder.

"This is _our_ year now. Down there it's the turn of the millennium. Not the soddin' year three thousand."

"It's not our world, Spike."

"It's still a world we understand. With gas-powered cars and toaster ovens."

She shook her head. He just didn't get it. "But there are other versions of us here too, remember? I work in a boutique. Willow has children with Oz."

"Not me. I'm long dead. I just wanna get back to a normal world where things are like we remember… Where a man can get a bleedin' cigarette!"

"We all want that, Spike. Except for the cigarette. But it might not be as similar as you think down there. They've already had one big genetics war that we didn't have and, from what I've heard, there's a World War Three due at any minute."

Spike faltered. He knew it wasn't their Earth but he hadn't considered the fact that this one might be as alien as the future one. There was something else that he was beginning to realise. His position in the future might be stronger than he'd thought. There were Demons in that future that didn't even know where they were. A whole medley of monstrosities in need of guidance and Spike, the sole Vampire in all the galaxy. He could be a leader of Demons! He could be the father of an entire race of Vampires! The Grand Sire! He could be…

Ah, who was he kidding? With the chip in his skull he was still no more a danger than a gelded horse.

He looked across at the small spaceship. He didn't even know how to _fly_ a shuttle.

Buffy came over casually and leaned against the shuttle next to him. She was looking at him strangely. It almost looked like she was smiling faintly.

"You think you're stronger than me, don't you?" she said to him.

"No offence, Slayer, but, in a fair fight, I know I could beat you hands down with an arm hacked off," he replied, unsure where she was going with the question.

She did smile at that. "Then… it'll be interesting to see which of us will be stronger now." Her eyes challenged him. "Who's gonna give in to defeat first, Spike? You or me? After today, I know I'm stronger than you here." She pointed to her head. "So I'm gonna bet on you being the quitter."

Spike huffed at her defiantly and headed back up the ladders. "If you can hack it here, Slayer, I sure as hell can."

She nodded to herself and followed him up.

Worf was waiting at the top.

"Step aside, Bigfoot," Spike said as he pushed passed him. "And get me a room, I wanna lie down. I've been in crypts more comfy than this tub."

* * *

Doctor Crusher turned up at the mess hall while the Spike-hunt was on and took Giles to one side.

"Rupert. I just heard about the accident. I'm so sorry. It must be hell for you."

Hell sounded too strong a word to him. He didn't have ties to much of anything these days. Not even to the Watcher's Council. The Slayer and her team were his world and they were all here. Xander and Anya had each other.

"I'm more concerned about Willow and Buffy," he said. "They have loved ones at home. People very dear to them who will be greatly missed."

"I know what it's like," said Beverly, "to be separated from a loved one, from family. I have a son – Wesley. He's out there somewhere. I have no way to reach him. I don't know for certain when or if I'll ever see him again." She looked sad. "You let them know; if they ever need to talk…I'm here."

"I'm sure they'll appreciate that." He wished he could take her own pain away. He didn't even know she had a son. "Tell me about him. Wesley."

"Wesley… he is a very special boy." She smiled at the memory of him. "What I should say is _young man_. He'll be almost twenty-seven! He went with a man called The Traveler to explore new realms of existence. Or something like that… I haven't heard from him in a long time.'

Riker returned moments later with Buffy and Spike.

The Vampire sat down as if nothing particularly interesting had happened. The rest of the gang were eyeballing him. "What?"

"Perhaps we should see the captain now," Giles suggested.

* * *

Picard was standing at the centre of the bridge when Riker returned with three of the guests; Giles, Buffy and Willow. He turned expectantly.

"Everything seems to be under control now, sir," Riker reported.

Picard nodded. He faced the three visitors. "I'm sorry, but there is very little more we can do."

They looked to each other for support and Buffy replied; "We understand."

The Captain was relieved beyond measure to hear that. "I think Agent Hellström agrees we've outstayed our welcome here."

Hellström didn't argue as Riker took the helm.

"Take us home, Number One."

La Forge was back at the science station. "Warp field configured. Vortex control ready."

Riker laid in the necessary co-ordinates and piloted them back into the 24th century.

The green vortex energy subsided and the ship settled into its new orbit of Earth. Year: 2376.

"All instruments verify our position," Data reported from Ops.

"Spacedock acknowledges our return," said Troi at the comm.

Temporal Agent Hellström released an audible sigh of relief. The timeline was intact. And so was his career.

"Captain Picard?"

He stood and turned to face Buffy.

"What _will_ you do with us now?" she asked.

Picard opened his mouth but Troi broke in; "We're being hailed by Starfleet HQ."

The Captain faced front. "On screen."

Admiral Pervis, a sixty-something silver-haired human with a dark moustache, appeared on the viewer. He spoke with a soft British accent. "Jean-Luc Picard is that you? Without the Enterprise?"

"It is, Admiral. I have to say, I wasn't expecting to get a call from head office."

Pervis nodded. "We've just picked up an emergency beacon from the Vulcan monastery on Delta Vindi. Sorry to throw you back into work like this with a test ship, Jean-Luc, but the nearest help is seven hours away. You can reach them faster at maximum warp."

Picard felt duty bound to protest; "Admiral, we barely have a skeleton crew onboard and our mission was not entirely successful."

"Understood, Jean-Luc. I accept full liability. Please proceed."

"Aye, Admiral."

"I'll have a support ship to you as soon as possible. Fare thee well, Captain."

"Admiral."

The screen went blank and Earth returned.

The Scooby trio glanced at each other in concern and Willow looked to the Earth on the viewer. So close…

Hellström began to protest, after all it wouldn't take long to drop them off, but Picard refused. They had orders. Vulcans were in imminent distress and there was no time to pause.

"Set a course for the Vindi system, Number One – maximum warp. Engage."


	5. Death & Destiny: The Incursion of P'Jem

(The following _Death & Destiny_ chapters haven't really changed much from my original posting.)

The character of Schlatnak is based on Alnschloss K'Bentayr of the planet Monchezke, as featured in the STAR TREK movie, 2009.

* * *

-** Buffy Meets Star Trek 2**-

**_Death & Destiny_**

- The Incursion of P'Jem -

**05**

"So, you didn't even have time to think before you were thrown into another mission?" asked an excited Leonid Korotkin as he cradled his coffee.

"Ah, but this was a Starfleet mission," Captain Rosenberg reflected. "And there's nothing worse than being along for the ride."

"This mission to Delta Vindi," Crius inquired. "Did anything significant happen?"

From the sound of it, he also was eager for more.

"Oh, yes." The captain's face grew sombre. "A lot of people died. Some of us lost our lives, some of us…found a destiny."

Leonid tried to tread lightly but failed to mask his interest. "Was that the last time you… were with your friends?"

Willow gave a long wistful sigh. "We'll get around to that…"

* * *

**2376 AD:**

The U.S.S. Phantom arrived at Delta Vindi and entered a geostationary orbit above the site of the Vulcan monastery. The bridge was quiet and a little tense. There wasn't much of a crew onboard this untested starship if they were faced with a significant threat. The guests were off the bridge now, with Counsellor Troi as their custodian. Even Hellström, finally, was out of Picard's figurative hair.

He addressed Ambassador Worf at tactical, who was kitted in his typical Klingon garb, "Are we detecting any vessels in the vicinity, Mr Worf?"

"Negative, Captain." He adjusted the sensors for a planetary scan. "The P'Jem monastery appears to be in tact. No apparent damage."

The Captain sat and deliberated over the brown planet on the viewscreen. Vulcan monasteries rarely attracted trouble. But, with a new ship and no crew, Picard was leaning towards caution.

Riker's job was done. The ship was in an automated orbit and he spun to face his captain.

"Report, Data," said Picard.

The android worked his nimble digits over the operations controls; "The transmission appears to be emanating from beneath the structure. The signal is extremely weak and intermittent."

"Those transmitters are ancient," Riker noted. "They've been there for centuries, deep in the catacombs, long before the P'Jem monks moved into the sites. They're practically antiques. I'm surprised it even works."

Doctor Crusher, observing from a rear station, pondered; "I was under the impression the P'Jem monks shunned technology of any kind as an obstacle to spiritual integrity."

"True," said Picard. "They may have retained the old transmitters as an emergency provision for days like this."

Data's screen beeped. "Captain, the transmission has ceased."

Picard leaned forward. "Life readings?"

Worf was already on it. "I am unable to obtain a clear reading. Sensors _are_ detecting Vulcan life signs; however, there are fluctuations in the levels and numbers. Also, sensors are not able to penetrate the tunnels beneath the structure." He grunted. "Readings inconclusive, sir."

Picard gave a nasal sigh. Transporters were down for the removal of the multidimensional devices and for tests, which made any kind of mission a difficult one. "Will – take a security team to the surface and make an assessment."

Riker headed out.

"The transporters won't be online for at least another three hours, Commander," La Forge cautioned.

He acknowledged the risk. "I'll take the shuttle," said Riker and left the bridge.

* * *

Deanna Troi always looked forward to her encounters with Buffy's group. No matter what the nature of the situation, they had a magnetic way about them that defied comprehension. The emotions she got from them were raw and untamed. Be it pleasure, anger, or fear, she always felt a strong emotional connection to them. Even without her empathic abilities, she knew that their quirky and unparalleled personalities had more than a little in common with that side of her own character. She moved through the tight corridors of the Phantom to Buffy and Willow's quarters and pressed the chime.

Inside the small room she found the girls lounging on the bottom bunk, and Xander with Anya at the workstation. "It's just the four of you?"

"Giles ate too much and fell asleep," said Anya.

"We needed comfort food after everything," Willow explained. "Only he had so much it made him _un_comfortable and he had to go lie down."

Troi smiled.

"And Spike's in his room brooding under armed guard," added Buffy.

Xander opened his arms. "And, so, we are four."

"So, what's new?" Buffy asked.

Troi stepped in and let the door close. "I was thinking…maybe we could start with a simple orientation. Just some basics in Earth history and first contact."

"Sounds a lot like school," Xander moaned. "It took us eighteen years to escape the hells of institutionalised tutelage."

Buffy looked equally glum. "And we've barely been free for eighteen days."

"I miss class," said Willow. "Can there be lectures? I miss lectures."

Xander gaped. "_Will_? I think the space dust is rotting your brain."

"I think it's an admirable quality," Troi contested.

Xander dispelled the witch. "Don't listen to her, Counsellor, it's just an adolescent fad. She'll grow out of it."

"I hope not," Deanna protested with humour. "This ship and its crew are part of a federation devoted to furthering our knowledge. It's a very fulfilling way of life."

"As is apparent," Xander explained, "the majority of us consider study to be _evil_. It sucks worse than vampires."

"I just thought you'd feel less frustrated if you had something constructive to do this time," the counsellor admitted. "I didn't want you to get bored while we conducted our mission here."

Three of the Scoobs gave a collective groan of acceptance. Willow grinned with triumph.

"Where _is_ here anyway?" asked Anya.

"We're at Delta Vindi in the Vindi system."

Xander piped up; "Oh, yeah, good old Delta Vindi. I've always wondered what it's like this time of year."

"What's at Delta Vindi?" said Will.

"There's a P'Jem monastery here that called for help."

Buffy pulled her 'eh' face. "A P'_what_ monastery?"

"It's a place where Vulcan monks go for–"

"They're the pointy-eared elf people, right?" Anya said in her no-nonsense way.

Troi cringed. "Um, you probably shouldn't say that outside this room but, yes, they're the pointy-eared elf people." She fought back the urge to smile. "Anyway, as I was saying, a spiritual retreat where Vulcan monks aim to achieve something called Kolinahr."

"A little decongestant should clear that up," Xander wisecracked.

"Kolinahr is a state where Vulcans purge themselves of all emotion."

"Well that's no fun," he joked again.

"Literally," said Willow. "'Cos…fun's an emotion."

Anya puzzled. "Is it? I mean happy is an emotion, Joy is an emotion. But fun? That's a thing you _have_. Does it actually qualify as an emotion?"

"_I_ think so," stated Willow. "There's no fun if you can't emote."

"So, what's gonna happen with this monastery?" asked Buffy. "What are you gonna do?"

It was clear to the counsellor that she still had an urge to be involved in some form of action.

"That depends," answered Troi. "On a lot of things. We don't yet know the full nature of the distress."

"Are we gonna get into another fight?" Anya grumbled. "Because I'm tired of these star wars."

Troi could relate to that. "We deal with problems in many different forms. Out here there are so many variables. It could be an illness, it _could_ be an attack, but there aren't many grounds for attacking a group of helpless monks. It could be… perhaps they ran out of _food_. Until we investigate there's really no way to know. Commander Riker's going down there now to assess the situation and he'll report back to us."

Anya frowned. "Can't you just…ask the alien people down there what's going on?"

"Well, communication is a problem. The monks don't use technology. The only thing they have is the transmitter that was sending out the emergency beacon. There's no way to get a signal through to them without a receiver. The assessment has to be made face-to-face. To be honest, we don't even know if we'll be welcome there. Or even if the monks know their beacon was sending out a signal. As I said; so many variables. So, until we know where we stand, we let Commander Riker do his work."

* * *

The shuttlepod _Shikar_ scuttled through the atmosphere of Delta Vindi.

It was a tiny four-man craft designed purely for missions like this when beaming was impossible.

Riker piloted. He'd selected the best three security men from those who'd been assigned to the Phantom from Enterprise. Two humans; Rush and Tremblay, and Schlatnak from the planet Monchezke.

Schlatnak was a tall, thin humanoid with long limbs and long bony fingers. His skin was thick, brown and hairless and his skull was, in human terms, enormous. His eyes were large angled black wells that, along with the rest of his features, gave him a menacing look to those from Earth. It was a misleading appearance however, as his crewmates found him to be one of the kindest and most gentle people they'd worked with. They often wondered what possessed him to work security but, due to the nature of Monchezken language, it was difficult for him to articulate his reasons.

He had been a guard in the mess hall when Spike had escaped. The injury on the back of Schlatnak's head where Spike had beaten him with his own weapon was healed, but his ego was still bruised. He intended to make amends on this operation by performing with great courage and distinction.

Riker brought the Shikar around in a wide pass of the monastery. Through the window the building looked quiet and unassuming. It was built into the side of a high misty mountain, on ancient stone foundations upon which was set a wooden multi-levelled structure with green rounded roofs and a stone tower. From this, a long stone arched bridge spanned the deep divide to the top of a second mountain where a circular landing pad and watchtower stood.

Schlatnak, beside Riker, didn't wait for his commander to request a scan. He performed it on his own initiative and reported; "Computer P'Jem temple life no, Commander."

Riker didn't like the sound of that. In Earth standard it meant 'Sensors detect no life in the P'Jem monastery'. Minutes before, Worf had definite life readings. Now nothing?

Schlatnak saw the concern on his commander's human face. "Temple men deep standing, may think. Computer see no."

"I hope you're right, Lieutenant," said Riker. As he'd said, sensors were unable to penetrate the catacombs. Maybe the monks were down there. "I'm taking us in."

The shuttle hovered across to the small landing pad and dropped slowly into place. In seconds the four men were out the back ramp and moving swiftly yet cautiously over the thin bridge to the temple door. Their hand phasers were holstered until they made it under the dark canopy of the entranceway. There they found the door wide open, which was not at all normal.

The weapons were out and Riker led them gingerly into the Vulcan sanctuary.

* * *

Captain Picard was looking at a magnified view of Delta Vindi on the viewscreen. The mountainside monastery was barely a spec on the large display but it was a close enough image to capture the arrival of the shuttlepod. Riker and his team were in. Picard could only sit and await his first officer's report. He felt unusually tense.

The bridge door to his right slid apart and Ensign Gunnlaugsdóttir entered. The young blonde woman manned the helm station. The crew was being stretched thin but the ship needed a pilot at the ready.

Data was running a more thorough scan of the planet when he noticed something new. "Captain. Sensors are registering an energy dispersal in the upper atmosphere."

Picard turned, on edge.

Worf performed a tactical scan. "I'm picking up a faint plasma trail in the planets' exosphere. It may be the impulse wake of a small vessel."

"The shuttlepod?"

"No, Captain. The trail left by the Shikar is still relatively dense," explained the Klingon, "and the previous trail does not appear to follow an angle of descent relative to the monastery."

"Data, scan for possible landing sites."

The android did so. Within seconds he had something. "There is a shuttlecraft on the surface; two kilometres north of the monastery and at an altitude three hundred metres above."

"Identify."

Worf made a low growl. "The vessel is powered down. I am not registering a transponder signal."

"Put that area on the main viewer and magnify."

The top of a mountain range became visible. In a wooded green area they could make out a short strip of churned earth with a shuttle at the end. It was still no more than a grey blip."

"Magnify again."

The image zoomed.

Data's eyes saw the most detail. "It appears to be a Federation runabout…with severe phaser burns."

"It may have crashed as a result of damage inflicted in battle," Worf surmised.

Picard mulled it over. On the one hand, if it was Federation, the danger was lessened. On the other hand, no distress signal had been reported from such a ship. It was possible the shuttle had been unable to send out such a signal. Yet, why had it not been reported missing? And why was a runabout so far from a station?

"Configure a reconnaissance probe with a holo-imager," he said to Data. "Try to get a lateral computer model of the shuttle."

Data complied. He aimed the probe ten metres to the starboard side of the vessel. "Probe launched."

Picard moved across to Data where a partial 3D model formed on his monitor. It showed a full colour photo-real image of the side of the runabout. They read the name printed across the hull of the craft. Data checked the database. The computer made a match.

Data's emotion chip was not active yet he pivoted his head and managed to display both surprise and concern.

Picard's artificial heart dropped.

* * *

Commander Riker stood in the empty atrium flanked by his security team. The walls were made up of pillars and stone. Each pillar bore a torch and sconce but none were lit. The room was empty and still. Vulcan monasteries were usually silent, but this was quieter than that. He was almost too afraid to call out but he did so. "Hello?" …Nothing. "I am Commander William Riker of the Federation starship Phantom! Can anyone respond?"

"I don't think anyone's home," said Rush.

Tremblay waved a tricorder around and shook his head.

"Before, temple men standing," Schlatnak reminded them, expressing the point that the monks' life signs had been detected there earlier.

And that's what troubled Riker. "Fan out."

The three men spread and began to look through openings and behind meshed screens.

Riker tapped his communicator. "Riker to Phantom."

Picard's voice replied expectantly, "Report."

"We've entered the foyer of the monastery. So far no signs of life. It's a little too quiet for my liking, Captain."

Picard came back sounding bothered, "There's been a troubling development here, Number One. We've located a Federation runabout a few kilometres from your present location."

"A _runabout_?" That didn't make sense.

"We've been able to identify it as the _Quentin_. Will…" he sounded especially worried. "It was assigned to the science station…at Sal Fusia-Six."

Riker froze. Sal Fusia-6… the zombie station… the stolen shuttles… the…

"Demons."

No reply came from the Phantom. What could Picard say?

"Commander!" It was Schlatnak. His slender frame was bent toward something beyond the farthest of the meshed screens in the atrium. Riker ran across and immediately wished he hadn't. On the floor was a Vulcan in full robe, half of which was blackened and burned away. The skin beneath it and covering the face was charred black and red, boiled and oozing blood and puss.

Tremblay came and ran his tricorder over the body. "This man suffered severe electrostatic burns throughout his body. His organs are fried." The scanner beeped. "He's radiating electrons!"

They quickly moved back.

Finally, Picard returned, "Get your team out of there, Commander."

Things weren't that simple anymore. "Stand by, Phantom."

Rush joined them and gagged. "Oh, God."

"There had to be a power source to cause this," reasoned the commander.

Rush surveyed the room for danger. "I didn't think they had any power in these places."

"They don't," Riker replied.

"A weapon of some kind?" offered Tremblay.

The team became aware of the faint sound of hurried footsteps growing louder from the far archway. They spread out and formed a line with their pistols ready like Doc and the Earp boys at the O.K. Corral. The footfalls became hammer blasts as they neared and they heard a rising wail as if from a madman losing the last vestiges of his sanity.

A monk came tearing out into the atrium screaming with pain, his face and shoulders shredded and weeping green blood. The Vulcan landed in Riker's arms, spat blood up across his uniform, and convulsed wildly before falling still. Riker was kneeling with the man sprawled out in his arms.

Tremblay crossed the room and waved his tricorder at the monk.

The Vulcan was dead.


	6. The Beast in the Catacombs

Readers of _Buffy meets Star Trek 1_ will notice I repeat something in this chapter that Anya says at the end of that story. The reason is that the Anya here is the same person as the Anya that returned home, with the same personality. I simply wanted to connect this Scooby Gang with the one that went home. Enjoy ;o)

* * *

-** Buffy Meets Star Trek 2**-

**_Death & Destiny_**

- The Beast in the Catacombs -

**06**

"Pull your team out, Number One. Until we know what we're dealing with the situation may be more unstable than we anticipated."

It wasn't the first time Riker had faced unpredictable situations. "Captain, there may be Vulcans alive underground. Can the counsellor pick anyone out?"

"Counsellor Troi isn't on the bridge."

Riker gritted his teeth. He had to make a choice. Retreat, and abandon any survivors, or test his luck with the supernatural.

Lieutenant Tremblay was standing in the archway from which the dead Vulcan had emerged. He was reluctant to get too close to the opening but he had the only tricorder and answers were needed. He was faced with a long passageway that vanished into darkness as it stretched out of range of the sunlight from the atrium. He began to scan. Every sensing device found onboard the Phantom had been pre-calibrated at Spacedock to detect 'supernatural' readings. Tremblay still wasn't sure how he felt about the idea of spooks and spectres, even after everything he'd seen on the Enterprise lately, but his tricorder began to sound off. It told him something was travelling towards them at running speed. Something spooky.

"Commander Ri–"

Riker, Rush and Schlatnak turned in time to see Tremblay spun on his heels by an invisible force, his chest and face slashed open in a spray of red fluid. He wheeled around with a cry and fell on his face with a wet smack. The three men ran to his aid but Tremblay began to slide feet-first down the passageway. He cried out as he was dragged out of the sunlight and into the black. When Riker reached the archway his man was gone.

Rush was pale. "What…was that?"

Riker had no words.

Schlatnak gave a heavy cough. "Bad air," he said.

Riker sniffed. He was right. "Smells like…"

"Burned flesh," said Rush.

The commander was aware that he was spending far too much time thinking, but his mind was racing.

Lt. Schlatnak stepped forward in a protective stance with his hand phaser directed at the corridor. "Riker Commander?" he said as he covered them. "Action?"

It snapped him back. "Lieutenant Rush – the tricorder."

Rush returned to the red slippery stain on the floor where his crewmate had gone down and recovered the scanner. He noticed that the blood trailed across the floor and disappeared down the passage. He felt sick for Tremblay. They were never close but he was a good guy.

Rush returned to the opening and scanned. "Nothing. Still can't penetrate the substructure."

"Phantom," reported the commander, as he went to the atrium wall and removed one of the torches from a pillar. "Tremblay's been taken by…something. Permission to attempt a retrieval, Captain."

There was a pause before Picard replied uncertainly, "I don't know, Will."

Riker shared his captain's concern. They were back in the mouth of madness again and Picard didn't want to lose an entire team. On the other hand, how many people might be trapped down there?

"I do, sir," he replied.

Picard considered. "Very well. Proceed."

Riker drew his phaser, altered the setting, and used it to light the torch.

"Stay in contact, Number One."

"I'll keep the comm open." Commander William Riker raised the burning torch and led his team forward.

* * *

Beneath the P'Jem monastery were the maze-like catacombs of a bygone Vulcan era that pre-dated the monastery itself by centuries. There was no light there and no warmth. It was a cold deep burial pit sacred to the Vulcan people.

The orange glow of Riker's flaming torch descended a narrow, twisting stone staircase and brought its glow to the subterranean labyrinth.

Riker stopped at the base of the steps. He saw a series of stone tunnels, four in all, extending out in a fan pattern from the stairs and off into darkness. The smell was fusty. The smell of stale, moist death. The ground was dust-covered and cobwebs stretched throughout the passageways. It was eerily quiet. Made more eerie by the soft flow of air that seemed to be sucked down from the open atrium doors, through the catacombs, and out through some unseen vent somewhere.

"The Minotaur's labyrinth," he whispered.

"Say again, Commander," came the voice of Picard, louder than Riker would have liked. The sound echoed away into the distance.

Rush and Schlatnak arrived by his side, and the beeping of the tricorder bounced off the old masonry.

"We're beneath the structure now, Captain. No sign of Tremblay as yet."

"I'm getting readings now, sir," said Rush. "They're still a little vague, but…" The tricorder led his hand towards the tunnel second from the left. "Down there…"

A crackling electrical sound from the right caught their attention.

Schlatnak felt a sudden stab of fear and he pivoted his thin frame. His phaser went off prematurely and he let out a regretful whine at the error.

"Hold your fire!" snapped Riker.

The next thing they knew, the crackling was all around them and a green glow ignited in the cave as sharp forks of energy – like electricity – fired around the room and up the walls.

The three officers dove to the ground as the energy spikes crackled around them.

The phenomenon lasted just a few seconds and then stopped suddenly.

Riker spat old dust from his mouth and lifted his head. The torch was lying just a couple of feet away. Thankfully it was still burning strong. The coast looked clear and he picked himself up. Rush and Schlatnak followed suit.

"Readings?" Riker said to Rush. "What just happened?"

The lieutenant searched the floor and retrieved his scanner. "Commander," he said in awe, "…The tricorder…It's…It's fried."

Riker's head snapped around. Sure enough the lights on the device were out and the surface material had melted. Then he noticed Lieutenant Schlatnak trying to pry the phaser from his hand. With his other hand he pulled it free, the grip sticky where it had dissolved against his long bony fingers. The alien pressed the trigger and nothing happened. He turned to his commander with confusion in his large black eyes. Schlatnak opened his mouth to speak and surprised Riker by emitting a series of short glottal gargles.

Riker's heart began to beat faster. The alien was speaking Monchezken. That meant the universal translator wasn't functioning. That meant… "Riker to Phantom." He waited. A moment later he looked to his men. "Communications are out."

"Communications," said Rush in a panic, "and weapons. And now we're blind." He threw the tricorder down.

"Not completely blind, Lieutenant." Riker picked up the torch and waved it around.

Schlatnak rubbed his large injured head and again fired a flurry of gurgling sounds at them. They had no idea what he was saying.

"What _was_ that disturbance, Commander?" asked Rush. His panic was growing.

"I don't know."

"It fried every piece of equipment we had. Just like it fried the monk upstairs. Why aren't we dead? It could have killed us, why aren't we dead?"

"I don't know," Riker replied more firmly.

"We shouldn't _be_ here, sir, we don't know what's going on. We don't even know what we're _doing_!"

Riker snapped; "_Pull_ yourself together, Lieutenant!"

Something big came out of the darkness and knocked Riker against the wall. He landed sideways and saw Schlatnak recoil and trip.

A large dark creature took a swipe at Rush. The man tried to lean away from it.

Riker pushed himself up and went for the torch.

Rush must have been hit because he yelled out and dropped to the ground. The creature released a low growl and turned about. Riker took the torch in his hand and swung the flame toward their attacker and it roared as it moved back from the fire. Riker saw a flash of teeth and a large round eyeball before the beast swung a huge limb that sent his torch flying. Riker drew back. He needed a weapon… what could he use?

Schlatnak made a brave attack and ran towards the monster. He moved in from behind and jumped onto its back, but there didn't seem to be a neck and head section on its shoulders and it spun, throwing the alien to the dirt. The torch was blocked from Riker by the creature's position. He made a move for one of the damaged phasers. If it was all he had, he'd throw it.

By the time Schlatnak had recovered his senses and sat up, the dark beast was upon him. He opened his mouth and let out a high-pitched squeal of fear.

Riker's ears exploded with pain at the sound. The monster growled louder and disappeared down the central passageway.

The Monchezken stopped his screaming and gripped at his belly where his heart was trying to burst free.

Commander Riker crawled over to Rush and rolled him onto his back. The orange light had faded some, but he saw the tears in the man's uniform. It looked like he'd been slashed across the ribs on his left side. He felt for a pulse on his neck. The man was out cold, but alive.

"Are you alright?" he asked Schlatnak. The alien looked at him blankly. Stupid question, he realised, even if he could understand.

A rumbling growl drifted their way from one of the passages to the right.

The Minotaur was coming!

Riker looked to the staircase. It was steep and narrow. There was no way they could carry Rush up there in time and he wasn't leaving the man behind.

He remembered that the tricorder had indicated something down the second hole from the left. Question was; was it indicating a friend or a foe? It was the only lead he had.

The growl came again – closer. It was almost on them again!

The alien officer scrambled to his feet and Riker jumped to Rush's left side and tried to pull him around.

Heavy feet came for them and they were shaken by a loud roar.

Riker needed no further incentive; it was time to move. The tunnel on the left!

He called out, "Get the torch! The _torch_!"

The alien looked to where he was pointing and saw the flaming stick.

The commander reached under Rush's arms and dragged him into the tunnel on the left, and Schlatnak followed with the light. The alien officer hooked his free hand under one of Rush's armpits so the two of them could pull him more quickly. As the passage went on, openings started to appear in the walls. The first led across to the first tunnel on the left, the second to a tiny room. The further they went, the wider the space became between the fanned tunnels. They soon reached a deeper opening and Riker took them in. Inside there was another archway that seemed to open into a large enough room to hide in. They pulled Rush inside and put him against the wall beside the doorway. If the creature came in, at least Rush would be in a blind spot.

The Monchezken collapsed against the wall on the other side of the opening, breathing heavily. Riker was out of breath too and he kneeled and listened. The footfalls seemed to be drawing closer and he feared they would be found easily. He looked to the torch but the flame was low. He didn't think it gave off enough light to betray their location. The sound of the moving beast began to fade until finally there was silence.

Will Riker sighed with relief and sat against the wall beside Rush. He scanned around. The room on Schlatnak's side was in total darkness and so too was the wall ahead of him. He had no idea how big the room was but it seemed quiet and safe enough. The torch threw some light on the wall nearest Riker and he saw a number of cavities that held the mummified remains of long-dead Vulcans. He put his elbows on his knees and let his head fall into his hands.

He had to put the reality of their situation out of his mind so he could think straight. He tried not to think of his mistake in going down there. No one would be coming to their rescue as the transporters were out and the only shuttle the Phantom had was parked right outside. They were trapped in a dark place with monsters and had no way to get a message through to their ship. Tricorder gone. Phasers gone. Tremblay was probably dead and Rush would be next if he didn't find them an easier way out.

Rush.

Riker reached for the stick and held its flame over the lieutenant. There was an open cut on his head from the fall and three deep gashes across his ribs that were bleeding badly. He put the torch down, unzipped the unconscious man's outer uniform and tore it open where it was cut. He opened the yellow undershirt next to reveal the Starfleet vest. The tomb they were in was cold but Riker peeled his own uniform open, removed his red shirt and pulled his vest off. He stuffed the vest against Rush's torn ribs and zipped his shirt back up. Hopefully it would put some pressure on the wounds and help to clot the blood. He redressed himself, folded the flaps of Rush's jumpsuit back over his body for warmth, and sat back against the wall.

Schlatnak was looking his way. His hand opened, palm up, and he aimed it at Rush. Riker took a guess at what he was trying to put across. "He's all right for now," he whispered pointlessly and sat back. "For now."

He was trying to think when something stirred in the darkness ahead of him. He held his breath.

There it was again – a faint shuffle. He grabbed the torch, thrust it forward, and suddenly there was a face before him. Devil ears and angled brows!

He gasped. And then he relaxed. It was the emotionless face of a middle-aged Vulcan. Dressed in monk's robes, he came over and knelt in front of him, his hands interlocked formally at his waist. A second Vulcan male, slightly younger, joined him and they regarded the commander coldly.

"Who are you?" asked the elder monk.

* * *

Deanna Troi led the way to the small Phantom conference room. She'd convinced them to go with her and at least try a short orientation lesson. Buffy, Willow, Xander and Anya took seats around the table and the counsellor-cum-temp teacher used the large screen there as a class blackboard.

"Ready to get started?" she asked. Just as she expected, Xander was the first to open fire.

"Oh yeah, I'm champing at the bit. My bit is well and truly champed. I may have to call my horse-dentist for a replacement."

"Neigh," said Will of his equestrian reference.

"Xander's a racehorse in bed," Anya muttered thoughtfully. She realised she'd spoken aloud. "A marathon racehorse, not sprint."

Buffy's eyebrows went up and she smiled. "High praise indeed."

"What can I say, I'm a stallion." Xander leaned back and locked his fingers behind his head.

"I guess that makes Anya a jockey," teased Buffy.

"This's beginning to get disturbing," said Will, squirming in her seat.

Xander sighed contemplatively. "Captain Stallion, the bearded spacelord of the bed."

"Oh, you can shave that off now," Anya remarked casually.

"What?" he sputtered. After all he'd been through to grow it!

Anya shrugged and curled up her lip. "The bristles are coarse," she explained. "They irritate my face when we smooch. And there's the rash it leaves between my–"

"_Okay_!" he cut in quickly. "…I'll shave it."

"All right," Troi jumped in, trying to steer things back on track. "Let's begin with some basic cultural differences between early twenty-first century Earth and the Earth of today. Let me know if any of your history differs from ours. For example, as I understand, where you're from, people smoked paper-rolled tobacco. Now, damaging substances such as this are mostly outlawed and no longer produced."

Xander didn't mention Captain Freeman's Cuban cigar collection.

"Racism, sexual discrimination, famine, poverty, and war have been abolished. The continents are united in peace and the people of Earth now live in a utopian society."

"What about sex?" Anya asked in all seriousness. "Is sex allowed?" She remembered the horror to which Sylvester Stallone had awakened to in Demolition Man.

Deanna took a moment to perform a mental shake of the head. "There are no laws on Earth that prevent procreation."

"That's a relief. It's all that really matters, after all. That and money. As long there's still sex, and capitalism is still in full flow, then all is good in the universe."

"Actually," Troi ventured, "within the Federation, money no longer has a function."

"_What!_?" Anya gasped and double gasped. "Oh, my God. The world's gone to the dogs. The true apocalypse…it really happened. What's the point in life?" She continued to mumble and grumble her way into bewildered silence.

"What about global warming?" said Will. "The greenhouse effect? Did that get any worse?"

"It did for a time. But all the environmental damage has been repaired and reversed."

"Cool," said Xander. "Cheaper flights and gas."

The counsellor marched on; "Earth is now a parliamentary republic, with a President as head of state and a Prime Minister as head of government. The United Federation of Planets is–"

"This is crazy," Buffy interrupted. "Even if we learn everything there is to know about the Earth of now – how long would that even take? – how many other planets are there out there we need to know about? It's an impossible task."

"Some things you'll learn as you go," Troi assured them.

Xander raised a hand. "I say we learn everything as we go and do away with the study."

"If you at least learn enough to understand the basics," she said in appeal.

Willow put her hand up. "Who picks the names for spaceships and things?"

At least Troi could rely on Willow for a serious question. "Well, there's a committee within Starfleet R&D that assign designations to vessels. Some of them date back to the history of Federation member planets, such as _Enterprise_, which goes way back to Earth's historical sailing ships."

"And _Phantom_," said Buffy, "'Cos of the mythical fantasy supernatural stuff."

"Right."

Anya jumped back into reality. "Okay, so, there's no money. How are we expected to survive? How do we get jobs so we can purchase foodstuffs and garments?"

"That all depends. What careers are you interested in? If we know what skills you have we can try to translate that into a contemporary trade."

"And career week is here again," Xander griped.

"Career week?"

"It's a high school thing," he said.

Buffy's head lolled back. "Don't remind me."

"It was a form-based interests and personality test," Will explained.

"Which was compulsory unfortunately," said Xander. "It was either that or sit through endless lectures about ships without rudders and flightless birds and many more rich and colourful similes."

"I see. And what were your results?"

No one admitted anything at first, until Xander finally put up a palm. "Prison guard," he confessed.

The counsellor made a pained expression. "You do have a trade in carpentry," she offered encouragingly.

"Sure," he said. "Unless there's a huge market for wooden starships or a big plan to replace all these swishy doors with the good old hinged partition…"

"Carpentry is not an extinct trade, Xander," Troi pointed out.

"I'm guessing it's not exactly in vogue either."

She tried to look on the bright side; "You displayed great skill and courage during the Epsilon Ursae conflict. I understand you undertook tactical training on the Rutherford. There's always a demand for security personnel in Starfleet."

"And, I'm back to _prison guard_," he concluded.

Troi wisely moved on, "Willow?"

"Oh, um, I was offered a placement with a big computer software company. I'm pretty lucky, I guess. Computers seem to run everything these days. By that I mean _your_ these days not ours."

From what Counsellor Troi had seen so far, Willow stood the greatest chance of adapting fully to her new life. She said nothing of this, of course. The others didn't need her to add insult to their injury.

Buffy was avoiding eye contact with the counsellor. The last thing she needed to hear was 'security guard' when she mentioned her aptitude towards law enforcement. There was always her fallback – landscaping.

A beep from the computer came to Buffy's rescue.

"Picard to Troi."

She pressed a hand to her breast. "Go ahead, Captain."

"Have Rupert Giles sent to the bridge immediately."

* * *

Giles was led onto the command deck with Buffy and Willow on his heels.

Willow saw Data across the room and gave him a jolly wave. He almost looked embarrassed as he returned the ill-suited gesture.

Buffy and Worf acknowledged each other with a subtle nod.

Picard got up from his centre chair to face Giles.

"Is there a problem, Captain?"

"We've lost communication with Commander Riker's team."

The former Watcher had no clue how to resolve _that_ problem.

Picard went on to explain; "It may be that they have encountered a malevolent threat. One of the missing shuttlecraft involved in our encounter at Epsilon Ursae seems to have crash-landed here within the last few hours."

The three of them had one collective thought: _Oh, hell._

They knew it was likely to happen at some point. They just hadn't expected it to be so soon, nor that they'd be around when it happened. Some might consider it fortuitous.

Buffy considered it ironic – in the worst possible sense. Her first instinct was to go down there. She _needed_ to go down there. But part of her said 'this isn't my world. It's not my home. I could just leave here and not look back. I don't need to fight and risk my life'. The rest of her knew that was not the right frame of mind to have. She was the Slayer and it was her world that had encroached on this one and her duty to protect people and fight evil. …Right?

"After everything you've been through recently," Picard continued, "I feel uneasy involving you in this."

Giles empathised. "Everything _we've_ been through _you_ went through also, Captain."

Picard gave a nod of understanding.

"You want our help?" asked Buffy. She remembered Spike's warning. But it didn't matter. She needed something to do.

"We have no frame of reference for whatever may be down there," said Picard. "My away team may be in danger. …Yes. I would appreciate any assistance you can offer."

"I'll go," the Slayer volunteered. "Zap me down there."

Captain Picard's intention was to have them advise and observe. But that was beside the point at this stage. "Transporters are offline," he explained, "and the away team took the only shuttle."

_Great_, thought Buffy, _Thanks for giving us a problem we can't even deal with_.

"I…" Picard had trouble finding the appropriate phrasing. "…I had rather hoped…given your unique skills…that you might somehow be able to…intervene from here."

The Scoobs looked to each other. They each wondered who would be the one to tell him _nope_.

* * *

"Who are you?" the elder Vulcan had asked Riker in a low tone. It was a relief to him that the Vulcans spoke Earth standard. It was a prerequisite class at the Vulcan Academy because their two planets were the primary Federation members.

"I'm William Riker, second officer of the U.S.S. Phantom." He indicated the alien across the room. "This is one of my security officers, Lieutenant Schlatnak M'Raknayr. And this is Lieutenant James Rush."

"How did you know to come here?" asked the younger monk.

"We responded to your distress beacon."

Elder spoke to younger; "One of the others must have reached the transmitter." He turned back to Riker. "I am Salis, and this is Pardak. Can you explain to us what is attacking our sanctuary?"

Riker blinked. "Hardly." He took a moment before asking; "What happened?"

"Something came in the night," said Salis. "A large bipedal creature not indigenous to this planet. It broke in as we slept and ransacked the monastery. Many were killed in their beds. Some of us fled to the catacombs. At dawn it came for us here." He looked to his young student. "We remained hidden."

"Are there any other survivors?" Riker asked.

"I do not believe so."

The commander released a compassionate sigh. "Something took one of my men. I didn't see what. It might have been the creature you mentioned. …There was an electrical disturbance that damaged our equipment, and the same source may be responsible for the death of one of your brethren in the entrance hall. Do you have any idea what caused these occurrences?"

"I have no knowledge of the disturbance you speak of," Salis replied.

"Nor I," said Pardak.

"You have no equipment here that could cause such high discharge?"

Salis answered; "We do not. The transmitter was our only tie to technology."

Pardak looked over at Schlatnak and seemed to notice the alien's quiet distress. "Are you injured?"

Schlatnak looked to Riker as if he could somehow convey to him what was being said by the Vulcan.

"He can't understand us."

The monks each raised a signature brow in disbelief.

"Monchezkens don't have the vocal ability to speak Earth standard. The part of their brains that controls speech perception can't distinguish individual words in alien languages." Rush began to stir and moan beside him. "I need to get my man out of here before he bleeds to death."

"Can you transport us from here?" Salis asked expectantly.

"It'll be a few hours before our transporters are functional and we've lost communications. I have a small shuttle on your landing pad but it won't be easy to reach with that…thing…running rampant down here."

"Commander Riker?"

Riker looked down to see Rush regaining consciousness slowly. "Try not to move. Conserve your strength."

The hurt officer's speech was slow and weak. "Where…?"

"Still underground. We're just taking a break before we get you out of here."

He tried to sit up, groaned, and fell back.

"Stay put, Lieutenant."

Rush checked the area of his pain and saw the blood soaking through his uniform. "I…I think I've had it, Commander."

"That's enough of that, Rush. I've seen worse damage in Parrises Squares. Doctor Crusher can fix this in two minutes; we just need to get you back to the shuttle."

Rush held onto Riker's tunic. "You…made the call to come down here," he uttered.

Riker's heart sank. Guilt was a terrible thing to carry with you, especially when it was thrust in your face.

Rush went on; "It was…the right thing to do, sir." He released his grip. "It was the right call."

Will gave his shoulder a gentle squeeze. "Rest while you can. We're leaving soon."

"Riker," said Salis. "A small group of our brethren attempted to flee into the mountains when the creature attacked. They were killed before they were able to reach the entrance hall."

Commander Riker closed his eyes and tried to find the workings of a plan in his busy head. "If… If we could somehow create a diversion – draw the creature away from the stairs long enough for someone to reach the shuttle. They can return with the doctor and a security team." He considered the fact that he was in charge, so it was his duty to stay until everyone else was out. "Lieutenant Schlatnak. He's quick on his feet and can pilot the shuttle."

Pardak foresaw a problem. "How will you communicate your plan to him?"

He was right, damn it.

"Sir," said Rush. "I…don't think I can hold out long enough…for Doctor Crusher…to get here. And, sir, …I can't, in good conscience, bring the doc into this hell hole." He coughed. "It's not that I want to…run away, sir, but…I think I'll have a better chance if I'm the one to go." He coughed again. "I could get to the Phantom in time for medical help…and send a security team back for you."

There was a lot of sense in what he was saying, but a lot of problems too. "You're unstable. You might not even stay conscious long enough to make it to the ship."

"All I have to do…is get out of the atmosphere, sir. The Phantom can bring me in on automatic."

Riker mulled it over. "Your wound isn't properly bandaged. You could bleed to death, Lieutenant."

At that, Salis removed his robe and offered it to Riker. "You may use this to bind the wound."

Riker was concerned but could see the logic. He decided to give it a shot. "Can you stand?"

They helped Rush to his feet and wrapped the monk's robe tightly around his torso. It seemed to give him good support and he managed to move around. He was slow and unsteady but he insisted he could make it.

Riker used a sleeve from the robe and tore it in two. Half he put on the ground and rolled the burning torch into it until it was soaked in pitch and aflame. He kept the second strip of material for phase two of his plan.

"When you hear my signal, go as quickly as you can, but be careful," he instructed Rush. "Don't go faster than you can manage. I'll keep it away from you as long as I can."

"Rush by name, leisurely by nature, sir."

Riker smiled at the brave young officer, whose fear was now replaced by determination and the instinct to survive. He instructed the Vulcans to stay where they were and to keep the small fire he'd laid from dying out. Then he was gone.

Quietly, Riker ran deep into the labyrinth with the faintly burning torch until he reached an intersecting tunnel that ran right around the catacomb in a semi-circle. There he stopped. The darkness beyond his torchlight was thick and he saw nothing of the creature. He took a deep breath and prayed for good fortune.

He rolled the strip of material around the torch until it flamed brightly again, then he raised a leg and slammed his foot down with a loud clap. The sound reverberated through the passageways and he waited. A minute passed, perhaps two, before he heard a heavy nasal breathing from an alcove behind him. He turned on it with his torch aloft and saw the shadowy figure of an enormous hulking monster. He didn't dwell on it for long as he jumped into a sprint and yelled "_NOW!_" at the top of his lungs.

He ran hard and fast with the heavy sound of the monster behind him. He ran what must have been fifty metres before he reached the next fanned tunnel that led to the stairs. He turned into it and ran back towards the entrance. It was still behind him, closing fast, and he ran for his life. He ran for all their lives.

He had a rough plan of the tunnels mapped in his head and he hoped it was accurate for what he would do next. In the light he saw a side opening appear in the wall up ahead. And, just beyond it, a small alcove. He picked up speed, tossed the torch away into the channel, and slipped into the alcove. The sudden stop sent him crashing into the brickwork but he forced himself to be silent.

He was in the dark and quiet when the shadowy thing reached him. It saw the light in the side channel and growled. It paused. Riker held his breath, gripping a sore elbow from his impact, and prepared to run again.

Thankfully, it followed the light and vanished from view. Riker snuck out of hiding, continued down the tunnel until the wall grew narrow enough for him to move across into the passage he had started from. The sound of the creature's growls were close. It was looking for him again. He walked quietly back to the secret room.

When he arrived there the tiny cloth-fire was still giving off some light.

Salis and Pardak stood at his sudden return, then knelt when they saw it was him. Rush was no longer there.

The commander collapsed in a tired heap by the opening and finally breathed. He looked sideways at Schlatnak who gave him a nod.

"Were you successful?" asked Salis.

Riker shut his eyes and breathed. "Let's hope so."

* * *

The four young Scoobs were now in Xander's tiny room. Willow was laid out in the top bunk with her head over the lip, Buffy was resting half sat on the workstation with her foot on the fixed swivel stool. Xander and Anya sat at the tiny table in the only two chairs. The room had barely a metre of space from bunk to wall and was a far cry from the luxury of the Enterprise. Xander was glad for one thing, though: there were no windows on the Phantom.

"They're trying to teach us about this world," he was saying, "when I don't even understand the one we came from."

"I still can't believe they don't have money," reflected his girl with a sad faraway look in her eyes.

"In their Federation it isn't needed, Anya," Willow tried to point out. "Everything you need is here. Replicators for food and clothes, holodecks for fun, and there's some kind of credit system if you want to buy anything from somewhere. The Federation takes care of all your comfort needs."

"Oh. Really?" challenged the former Demon. "Like the beds here?" She pointed to the two cramped bunks. "Those things aren't comfortable at all. They're certainly not built for _two_. Xander's meat-stick kept poking me all night, and when you've already had the sex and you're trying to sleep it's distracting. I'm surprised I'm not perforated like one of Giles' teabags."

Buffy gawked at her. "You _both_ slept in one of those?"

"It certainly brought us closer together." Xander said, rubbing his neck.

There came a minute or so of silence after that as the gang drifted away with their own inner thoughts. Two of them were deleting the mental picture that Anya had just so vividly drawn for them.

After she'd done her file delete, Buffy started worrying again about their future. "What do you think you'll do?" she asked them. "When we go back to Earth, I mean."

Xander's eyes went wide as he blew out a long breath of air. "I don't have a clue," he said at length. "I don't even know what to expect there. I can barely keep up with what's happening to us. I mean, a few weeks ago I had an ordinary life – for a Slayerette – and now… I've been in space battles, fired laser guns, met aliens and space-walked. Madness, I tell ya."

"Maybe we could do something together?" Willow suggested. "Start a Demon detective agency like Angel…?"

Buffy realised at that moment that she'd never see Angel again. Last week during their time in Spacedock, Will Riker had called Deanna Troi 'Imzadi'. The counsellor told them that it was a special term on her home planet for the first true love. A love that, no matter what, would never end. A link that could not be severed. It meant 'beloved'. Angel was her Imzadi, her beloved; lost forever.

"We could hire ourselves out to the Smithsonian as relics of the twenty-first century," Xander spoofed.

Will turned his idea over in her head and realised; "Does this mean we're officially three-hundred and ninety-four years old?"

Buffy looked at Willow in horror at the thought of it.

The young witch put a supportive hand out to her friend. "Don't worry, you look fabulous for your age."

Buffy's lips curled up into a pearly white smile.

"I've been around for a thousand years," said Anya. "What's a few hundred more?"

Willow could only think of one sensible answer; "Maybe they'll back-date our birthdays to, like, twenty-three fifty-eight or something."

"This is all too crazed," concluded Xander.

Willow suddenly snapped her fingers. "Hey, we're supposed to be trying to think of ways to help Commander Riker."

"Oh, right, yeah," Buffy considered. "…I'm drawing a blank." She suddenly realised what a weird saying that was. "How do you draw a blank?" she muttered as she traced an imaginary pencil in the air.

Xander had no help either. "Unless Willow the Wickedly Wicked Witch of the West's got a teleportation spell up her witchy sleeve, what are we gonna do?"

"I'm not up to that level yet," she replied with disappointment. "I know one for detecting demonic energy but… we already know there's something down there and… I can't actually remember it."

"Good work, Will," he mocked. "Make us look good why don't ya? We have a reputation to uphold here. We defeat the all-powerful phantom son of Satan by magicking him into a tight little package and blasting him into gas, now we can't even stop some runaway ghoul."

"I don't have my books," Will responded in a childish mumble-grumble.

Xander put on a completely exaggerated English accent; "Where's our man Ripper?"

"I think he went to his room to pace," said Buffy.

"Good old British stiff upper lip," he said. "Nothing compared to their stiff lower–"

"Xander!" Buffy scolded.

He apologised and shut up.

"We should ask Giles what _he's_ gonna do when we get back to Earth," said Will. "He'll have a plan."

Buffy began to wonder about Giles and the life he might live there. And then she wondered…"Is it just me, or is there something going on with Giles and the doctor lady?"

"Doctor Crusher?" Will said.

Xander gave a definite nod. "Yeah. I think she's had the pleasure."

They shuddered as one.

"Giles'll fix everything," Buffy assured them. "He'll already have the new Scooby mission statement figured out. He'll know what to do."

"Whatever happens," Xander said in seriousness, "let's stick together."

"Absolutely," agreed Buffy.

"Scooby Gang forever," Willow added from the high bunk.

* * *

Captain Picard was leant forward in his command chair, elbows resting on knees and his hands balled up anxiously at his mouth. Ahead of him was the solitary flight control station where Ensign Gunnlaugsdóttir, the 27 year-old Icelandic pilot, was sat doing little more than monitor their position. Beyond her blonde head was the arc of Delta Vindi on the main viewer. There were two other seated stations on each side of him. Worf and La Forge to his right, working on ways to penetrate the substructure of the temple with their sensors. Data and an empty communications post to his left. And Picard at the centre of it all. He felt completely useless.

With no word from Riker and his team there was no telling what was occurring 600km beneath his feet on the planets' surface. But his troubles ran deeper than those of the current mission. Something new, powerful and dangerous had recently been loosed upon his 'world' from realms unknown. In less than a week of its introduction to this dimension, the mystical had threatened the very existence of all he knew. Given a month, a year, a decade… how many more holocausts would follow? How many of those could they avoid?

What he feared most was that this mission would prove one terrible fact to be true. That the supernatural threat they were now faced with would be more than they could handle. And it frustrated him that he couldn't begin to understand the nature of it. How could he and his people begin to contain something that seemed to follow no rules or boundaries that made any sense to them?

He did feel a measure of relief knowing the transdimensional visitors were still with them. But only a measure of relief as, it would seem, even their knowledge and abilities had limits.

"Captain."

It was Data. He sounded quite spirited. Picard spun in his seat in expectation.

"The shuttlepod Shikar has left the surface, sir."

"Life signs, Mr Worf?"

"One human life sign reading. Very weak."

"Open a channel."

The Klingon complied. "Channel open."

"This is the Phantom, please identify yourself."

There was a break before a strained and wheezing voice came through. "Lieutenant…Rush, Captain. Need…assistance. …Medical…emergen–"

Silence.

Picard looked to Worf.

"The channel is open, Captain," the ambassador reported. "Life sign is minimal."

Picard ordered the shuttlepod on screen. It appeared just as it entered open space.

Data observed the Shikar's approach. "The trajectory of the shuttlepod suggests the pilot is no longer in control."

"Patch in to the Shikar's computer and bring it in, Mr Data."

"Aye, Captain."

Picard couldn't afford to lose Rush. "Bridge to sickbay. Send a medical team to the shuttle deck at once." He gave La Forge the centre chair and headed out the door.

* * *

Picard arrived at the shuttle bay just as Crusher's team got there and he watched them remove Rush's unconscious body from the small craft. He followed them to the ships' modest sickbay where he awaited Beverly's initial prognosis.

After a tense few minutes she came to him. "It appears he was attacked by a large animal, leaving him with deep lacerations to his abdomen and slight head trauma."

"Will he recover?"

"With surgery his chances are good."

Picard gave a reassured nod. "I'd like to see him first."

"It is imperative I prepare him for surgery immediately, Captain. He has severe internal damage."

"Doctor, I have to know what happened on the surface. I need to speak to him, _now_. No arguments."

Crusher protested; "He's unconscious. Giving him a stimulant now will only increase his chances of going into arrest."

"I understand that. Wake him, please."

* * *

Within minutes the conference room was full. Picard, Data, La Forge, Worf, Troi, Buffy, Giles and Willow were standing around the table there.

"Lieutenant Rush was able to return from the surface a few minutes ago," Picard explained. "He managed to give us the following details. When they arrived at the monastery something took Lieutenant Tremblay into the catacombs beneath the structure. There they were attacked by what he described as a 'large clawed animal'. Also they encountered some kind of power surge that destroyed their equipment."

Troi could sense a disturbing emotion emanating from Picard. "How _is_ Rush?"

"He died a few minutes ago," the captain replied in a detracted tone, sending a wave of guilt Deanna's way. "Cardiac arrest. Internal bleeding."

Buffy felt a pang of remorse. She recognised the name Rush. She'd joked with him just days before when he helped them replicate their spell ingredients. She'd scared him off with talk of opening a gateway to the dead. And now he was on the other side of that gateway.

He was just a young explorer out for adventure like the rest of these guys. And cute. He didn't deserve to die.

Picard quickly pressed on. "Do you sense anything on the surface, Counsellor?"

"Commander Riker's alive," she said, the connection to her Imzadi as strong as ever. "And there are a few others, maybe two or three. I'm not detecting anything from them other than a strong sense of fear."

"Rush said there were two Vulcan clergymen with Commander Riker and Lieutenant Schlatnak when he left," Picard noted. "I want a rescue team prepped and ready to depart in ten minutes."

"Send _me_ down," said the Slayer, stepping forward in that strong and certain way she had.

Worf came forward to join her. "I will lead the away team."

Picard recalled the trouble he'd had with these two the first time, and he agreed right away on this occasion. He had no time to argue regulations with people as stubborn as them.

Willow turned to Giles. He saw the look in her eyes. "We'll come with you," he said to Buffy.

"No."

"I must try to identify the Demon threat," he explained.

"You can do that from here," she insisted. "I'll call you from the planet."

"Commander Riker's team can't communicate with us," Rupert argued. "If the same thing happens again the only way I can assess the nature of the Demon is to go down myself. We may need the skills of a witch to defeat it."

Buffy looked to Picard. He decided to defer to her team in order to get a result. "Do whatever you feel is necessary to achieve a successful outcome, Miss Summers."

Picard addressed his chief engineer; "I need those transporters online as soon as possible, if not before. Help Professor O'Brien complete the restoration."

Geordi acknowledged. "You'll have them within the hour."

"See to it." …He looked around at them…_Once more unto the breach_… "Dismissed."

* * *

The second away team were all set to go. Buffy, Willow, Giles and Xander.

They were in a small circular room with a high ceiling. The shuttle deck.

There were caged ladders running up to a balcony and rail and, beneath their feet a circular floor section that looked like it opened up to release the shuttlepod.

The three of them had been loaned matching technician's utility overalls in mustard yellow with black turtle-necked shirts beneath. They each had a belt like Xander's tool strap back home, a Starfleet communicator badge, and a pair of heavy black boots. Buffy had pulled her shirt sleeves up and rolled the overall sleeves back to her elbows. She was ready for a fight.

To Willow, Buffy seemed to look far less certain and eager as usual. As she would be back home in Sunnydale. And Xander looked…well…clean-shaven. Beardless once again and younger-looking for it. Willow regarded herself and the rest of the Slay Team in their mustard uniforms. Team banana.

It looked like Giles had decided to leave his spectacles behind. That meant he was expecting trouble. They were as prepared as they could be and waiting for their team leader – Worf – who was gathering the weapons.

Willow herself had pooled together as many simple incantations of protection, conjuring and attack she could remember that required no spell ingredients and had written them down on a scrap of paper she'd replicated. For a long while all her brain had come up with was 'abracadabra' and 'ala kazam'. She could have written them on a computer padd, but she had a feeling that paper was the way to go this time.

Buffy had gotten Xander on the team. When she asked him, he asked back: "Will there be beaming?" Buffy had told him no and he replied: "Okay then!"

He was a little surprised when she'd invited him along. "But I'm no Slayer," he'd noted.

"No, but you're the only one here who's killed the son of the Devil," said Buffy.

To that he referred to the Phantom by saying: "This war machine doesn't even have a holograph room, so… might as well go play out for an hour before dinner."

Willow found herself looking at the shuttlepod. It was amazing to her that they could make such a small craft that was space-worthy. It was no bigger than a large Jeep and the main body of it was a little like a bullet, flattened at the top where the windshield was set. It had those engine nacelle things, the same kind the Phantom had but fun-sized. The engines were right at the back and high up. Between them at the rear was the little hatch that was dropped down now like a ramp. It had the red racing stripe and Starfleet emblem running down the side with the name and number printed in bold lettering:

**U.S.S. PHANTOM, NX-75736, **_**SHIKAR**_.

She wondered what the name meant.

"What are we expecting?" Buffy said to Giles.

The older man, who looked out of place in the banana suit, gave a shrug. "I wouldn't like to speculate at this point."

"We've just fought a war," said Xander. "Shouldn't take much to sort out an itty bitty claw monster."

Famous last words, the rest of them thought.

One of the doors slid open and Worf appeared packing some serious heat.

As ever, his hair was in a tight braided tail that hung down his back where, not one, but two bat'leths were sheathed. His Klingon belt was well-stocked with a d'k tahg dagger, his 'h'-shaped curved mek'leth short sword, a Klingon disruptor pistol and tricorder, and a Starfleet hand phaser all stuffed in there. On top of that he had a Starfleet phaser rifle slung over his shoulder. He looked like a big bumpy-faced Rambo all set for war, and he had a different comm unit – the Klingon kind on the strap around his forearm.

Data followed him in with a tricorder and handed it to Willow. She put it in a slot on her belt.

"Captain Picard would like you to conduct an inspection of the Quentin before proceeding on to the monastery," Data informed them. "There may be evidence within the runabout to indicate the nature of the threat."

They nodded.

"Understood, Commander," said Worf, before heading around the shuttle and up the ramp.

The Scoobs followed but Will hung back with Data.

She patted the tricorder at her side. "Thanks for the sensor unit. I'm…not sure I know how to use it yet, though."

The android quickly jumped in; "I anticipated the potential difficulty and programmed the tricorder to operate at an elementary level. This setting is designed for children. I do not believe you will have a problem."

_Child setting, huh_? "Um…thanks, Data. I…I better go."

He bobbed his head. "Be careful, Willow."

She looked back as she went. "I'll do my best."

She reached the ramp where Xander was stood. Worf was already in one of the front seats with Buffy sat behind him. Giles was across from her and there was only the front passenger seat remaining. Xander offered it to her and she sat beside the Klingon. Xander crammed in as the ramp closed like Fido the dog knelt in the back of the truck.

"I hope we're not overloaded," muttered Xander.

Worf responded, "The Shikar can hold a maximum of six personnel."

"We just ate," Xander mentioned. "Does that count?"

The Klingon grumbled.

Willow watched as Worf set his configurations for the control station and ran through the pre-flight sequence. She noticed how much more complex his settings were compared to the ones she had used in the space war. He was manually controlling more systems than she even knew existed.

"Why is it called the Shikar?" she asked Worf.

The warrior stopped and gave her a mildly puzzled look before returning to his panel of colourful buttons. "I do not know," he answered at length. "I imagine it is the name of some historical Earth figure. An explorer, perhaps."

"Sounds foreign," she pondered.

The Klingon exhaled. "Computer." There followed a mechanical chirp. "What is the origin of this vessel's designation?"

There was a brief pause before the nice computer lady replied; 'The Earth term _Shikar_ refers to a form of hunting which took place in colonial India, and was also the title given to the hunting parties involved.'

_A hunter_. "We're Demon hunting," Willow remarked.

He looked to see if she was satisfied. She smiled warmly and Worf dropped the shuttle out through the floor.

As they transversed the space between ship and planet, Willow asked him about the name Delta Vindi. What was that about?

He told her of the six planets in the Vindi system and that Delta was the fourth from the sun, following the Greek letter format. Alpha Vindi, Beta Vindi, and Gamma Vindi were the 3 nearer the Vindi star, with Epsilon Vindi and Zeta Vindi the farthest.

Worf quietly hoped she wasn't going to bombard him with such trivial questions the whole time, and Will sensed that from him and decided to shut up for a bit.

They swooped into the atmosphere of the alien world, which looked surprisingly familiar with its green regions, snowy regions, and the misty mountains they were approaching. They passed over the mountainside temple and across the mountain range to the churned ground where the Quentin had crashed. Worf drew in against the oncoming wind and took the shuttlepod down near the larger runabout. With a hiss the landing gear came down and they settled. Outside the air howled. The ramp lowered and they jumped out into the strong gale.

Once on solid ground, Worf split his loot.

He drew out one of the bat'leths from his back and gave it to the Slayer. It was Gor'agh's. The one she'd fought with in the battle of Epsilon Ursae Six. She marveled again at its deadly beauty with its handles of polished Targ bones with leather Targ hide grips. In places it bore animal fur, the blade dark and made from hair – like a rhino horn. But it was sharp as hell. Made by a Klingon house of swordsmiths. It was art. The sword was arced in a crescent with five sharp points. One spike in the centre, two midway on either side, ending in long curved points at both ends. She was glad to feel it in her grip once again.

"This belongs to you now," Worf said to her.

This time she took it with only a nod and no resistance.

Xander was handed the rifle and hand phaser. Worf knew of his skill and courage in battle. He had no problem in trusting the young man with such weapons. He took out his Klingon tricorder and led them across the grass and against the wind toward the other shuttle. Xander went with his pistol holstered and his rifle aimed down.

They neared the powerless vessel carefully and Worf held his sensor unit up.

"Captain," he reported, speaking into his arm piece. "The Quentin has suffered massive damage to its computer core and there are a number of ruptures in both nacelles. The damage appears to have been caused by Federation phasers. I believe they crashed here accidentally as a result."

That made sense. It had been one of the evil Rhamhal's stolen fighters so had been seriously pummelled by Starfleet. The fact it had made it this far was astounding.

"Are there any survivors onboard, Ambassador?" asked Picard over the comm. "We're not detecting anything here."

The door of the runabout was already open and the team poked their heads into the dark within.

The stink of rotting flesh hit them before the site of the Sal Fusian corpse spread out on the carpeted floor. Worf slipped inside and checked the rear compartment.

"Negative, Captain. No survivors," he said on his return to the fresh air.

"Just an ex-zombie and a bad smell," said Xander.

"There's no telling what manner of Demon arrived with it," Giles admitted.

Picard was silent for a time and the wind began to pick up speed.

"Continue, Mr Worf," came his order. "With caution."

"Sir."

The team moved out.


	7. Monks & Monsters

-** Buffy Meets Star Trek 2**-

**_Death & Destiny_**

- Monks and Monsters -

**07**

The shuttlepod Shikar touched down on the small circular landing pad of the Vulcan monastery. The pulsating gusts of wind were enough to rock the small craft as the away team disembarked.

An overzealous Xander ran around the front of the shuttle with his rifle and dropped to one knee, shoved the butt under his chin, and aimed the hot end of the barrel down the narrow bridge ahead. Worf stepped out and looked around. He removed his sensor unit and scanned the area. Willow had flipped her own tricorder open and started trying to decipher its controls and readings. Buffy came out with her bat'leth and waited for someone to point her in a direction. Giles kept to the rear and remained cautious.

They were all looking at the bridge, the high winds driving against them. The bridge was up to 15 metres long with wooden arch frames running at intervals over which a brown canopy ran. But the barriers on either edge of the long bridge were no more than two bricks high and, beneath it, a drop into rocky oblivion. Between the strong gale and the narrow open walkway it looked like a treacherous trip.

Buffy didn't much like the cold of the racing wind. "Can we go in?"

Worf examined his sensor readings. "I am detecting nothing."

Willow looked at the bips and squips and squiggles on her tricorder. "So, that's what nothing looks like."

"We must proceed to the sub-levels," Worf advised. "To the catacombs."

"Not liking the sound of that," uttered Xander.

"Let's do this," said Buffy.

But there was still that bridge to cross.

"Be careful," Worf told them. But it sounded more like 'If you fall over the edge and die it'll be your own stupid fault'.

The Klingon leaned against the wind and ran the bridge without falter and the Slayer followed. Will, Xander and Giles used the frames of the arches for support.

Within the entrance hall of the monastery they discovered the burned and dead Vulcans and, at the far end, a coagulated pool of blood and a trail of it spread down a passage out of the room.

Willow's sensor was giving her automatic readings. "That's human blood."

"Lieutenant Tremblay," grumbled Worf.

Willow went to the Klingon's side and looked into the dark tunnel. "What _is_ a P'Jem anyway?"

"P'Jem is the name for a series of Vulcan monasteries, ancient places hundreds and hundreds of years old. It is a spiritual sanctuary. The monks do not interact with the outside world. They are focused on the one goal of removing all feeling and devoting themselves purely to logic and spiritual matters."

"How does that work?" asked Buffy. "In what way is logic spiritual?"

"That is a question you must direct to the monks," Worf replied. "If any still live."

Buffy the Vampire Slayer looked down the shadowy passage. "Let's go find out."

He snarled a favourable grin at her eagerness. Recently Worf had fought an army of hellish beasts and defeated a giant behemoth. He felt ready for another challenge, and the beast below had caused great carnage – he could see the result. It would be a worthy opponent.

Buffy glowered at him suspiciously. "Don't even think about saying it, " she warned.

But he was already thinking it. _Today is a good day to die_!

Harris checked his weapon settings.

The team advanced.

The passageway was dark and so Worf threw Willow a small cube torch that fit in the palm of her hand. She used it to illuminate their transit from the hall and down the tight, spiralled steps to their underground destination.

They came to a stop in a semi-circular open section of a stone-walled basement. Before them a series of tunnels fanned out into blackness. The wind seemed to have followed them from outside as it was dragged down behind them and pulled deep into the catacombs. It didn't manage to drag the stagnant old smell of the place with it.

The Klingon opened a channel on his arm pad. "Worf to Commander Riker." He waited a few seconds. "He is not responding."

"The captain said their equipment was destroyed," Willow recalled. She shone the light across the ground and areas of scuffed dust were highlighted in the beam. They saw a burned out tricorder and equally damaged phasers scattered across the floor.

"Apparently so," Worf conceded, and picked out his tricorder. The screen lit up in the dark and he began a bio-scan. A faint signal showed up… possibly numerous life signs… somewhere down the second tunnel from the left.

"Where are we going?" asked the Slayer.

"This way–" he began. Something else came up on the small screen in his hand. Something big – closing in fast. Demon!

A shadow came from the tunnels and, before they knew what was happening, Buffy was sent spinning into Willow and the lamplight darted erratically before it hit the ground and went out.

Giles went low and moved in on their position to check on them.

Worf dropped, rolled, and drew out his Klingon sword. He wanted to swing the weapon but couldn't see anything in the black. He might hit one of the team members.

Xander knelt and tried to find the light switch on his rifle.

Buffy untangled herself from Will, whose groans indicated she was all right. She felt Giles' hand against her back as he searched for them. She gripped it with her own to show she was fine. She managed to get up on her knees and a sudden burst of light shone out from Xander's gun. In the centre of the open area, the dark shape of a large Demon spun and attacked the light source. Xander!

Buffy ran forward with her bat'leth.

The light went out. Xander felt the rifle leave his hands and the sound of it clattered away into a tunnel somewhere.

The Slayer attacked - slicing the blade down at the creature – and the sword went flying. She stumbled back. _Did I hit it? Did I get it?_

Willow located her torch and flicked it on. It worked, and she brought it down on the hidden beast. All the while, her mind was whirring as she tried to remember any spells that would give them a tactical advantage and that worked with only an incantation.

Worf observed the dark monstrous form as it rotated toward the new light source. He caught a glint from a large round eye. The thing was about to attack the Rosenberg girl and Worf made his move. With his bat'leth gripped tightly at one end with both strong hands, he swung and sliced it into the midriff of the hulking beast. With a shocking jolt that vibrated up his arms, the sword that had been in his family for generations hit the creature's outer skin and snapped clean in half.

The Klingon held his broken sword before his face in disbelief. Then a heavy arm crashed against him and he was thrown hard against the stone wall.

Willow fumbled in her belt pouches and clawed out the scrap of paper she'd scrawled her incantations on. She dropped the torch to the paper in her hand and tried to make out the writing.

"Light!" Buffy cried out. "I need light!"

Will lifted the lamp and Buffy was faced with their death-defying Demon in all its unholy glory. The image was of great claws and teeth and largeness. With its sloth hands, elephant feet, piranha face and the body of an iron-pumping meat-head with a thick leathery hide for skin.

The Demon roared, its face low where the chest should be, and came at her with a swipe of its long clawed arm. She ducked and kicked at its stomach, ducked again as it lashed out, and threw a punch across its sharp-toothed piranha jaw. The beast went unfazed and slammed a fat round foot against her chest and pinned her to the ground. She felt the weight of it crushing her chest and the claws came down to take out her face. It was hit suddenly by a thin orange beam of energy.

Harris fired his hand phaser, set to kill, and the Demon recoiled. It took one step back, shivered, and took two steps forward. The big beast growled as it came for him. It wasn't pleased.

Xander panicked and tried to reset the pistol to vaporise.

Buffy came from the sidelines and football tackled the monster into the wall.

Xander's weapon was set. He aimed.

"Watch out!" Willow jumped to the floor as a sizzling green energy cloud swooped out of a side tunnel and fired sharp bolts of lightening around the chamber.

Xander felt the shock in his hand as his pistol burned up.

Worf was back on his feet when two flashbolts struck out and lifted himself and the Slayer off their feet, across the room and into the brick.

Willow tried to scramble away but the mini storm drew up to her and fired a thrashing green shaft at her. Her torch went out and the storm cloud was gone.

A quiet pause followed. Willow was intact but her torch felt hot and soft in her hand. Whatever had destroyed the first away team's devices seemed to have done the same to them. She felt at her comm badge. It too was warm and pulpy. She was thankful for her foresight in using paper to write her spells on…only now she couldn't see.

Xander touched his hand in the darkness. It was tender but functional. Somewhere nearby he could hear the heavy breath of the Demon and its powerful feet shuffling about. He had a rough idea where he was in the room and an even rougher idea where his rifle had been scattered during the creature's first attack. He crawled quickly and quietly across the room, feeling the wall until he located the central tunnel, and shuffled along it as he stroked the dust for his weapon.

Buffy groaned. Her whole body felt charged – like the time she'd tried to fix her mom's washing machine without disconnecting it from the mains and gotten a nasty shock for her troubles. But this was full-body and not just her hand. She pushed herself up against the wall, her body stiff and weak. She could barely catch her breath.

Worf, too, came around feeling like he'd been hit by a runaway starship. His disorientation and weakness threatened to knock him down when he tried to stand. He fought it as best he could and kept to the wall. The creature was around somewhere; he could hear it.

Willow was still on the ground with Giles across her as a protective shield. She was trying her damnedest to remember what she'd written on her slip. Protection field incantation… disorientation glamour… She stopped. Her first priority was light! She remembered something that wasn't on her paper. A guiding spell she'd messed up the first time she tried it, but had mastered since. It wasn't quite appropriate to this occasion but it offered light… and they may at some point need the guidance.

"Aradia," she whispered, "Goddess of the lost, the path is murky, the woods are dense, darkness pervades. I beseech thee... bring the light."

In the heart of the dark chamber a green dot of light appeared over their heads and brought a soft glow to the room. Willow figured, if she held off on giving it instructions, it would stay right there like a light bulb.

Worf, still weak, saw the Demon appear in the faint light. It was in the centre of them, eyes raised like it was meditating, or basking in an imaginary sunlight. He withdrew the mek'leth short sword from his belt. Like a sly hunter of Targ, Worf creeped around behind the beast, locked his sights on the spot between any other animals' shoulder blades, and leapt forward. He pushed the sharp point with both hands into the monster's back…and was shocked again as his weapon shattered on impact.

The Demon turned to him with its huge fishy eyes gleaming.

* * *

Xander Harris found his rifle when a faint green light rose up from the chamber to help his search. His heart sank. The phaser was almost smashed in half – cracked in the middle. When he lifted it, it threatened to fold like a hinge. "Crap," he muttered. It was no better than a broken bat.

* * *

Buffy ran into the Demon again and tried to beat it, avoiding the swinging claws. Worf joined her in the fight but their weakened states made it hard and tiring. The creature never once seemed hurt by their attacks. It lashed out and gave Worf a shallow set of cuts across his chest, severing his sash. He staggered back as his beloved silver baldric dropped off his body to the ground.

The beast roared loud, bucked a leg back and kicked the Slayer away.

Worf was enraged by this hulking animal. It seemed utterly futile, but Worf pulled out his Klingon knife. The disruptor pistol had proved useless – burned and melted.

The Demon chattered its razor teeth at him in a mocking gesture and he took a Klingon defensive stance, holding the knife out in an attempt to appear threatening.

The Demon made a strike with its claw and he pulled his arm back.

There was a moment, just a short second, in which there was no pain. Worf's arm was in front of him, but his hand was not. On the floor by his feet he saw the d'k tahg dagger still held by a severed appendage. His own hand. On the floor. Severed.

Then came the pain.

The Klingon roared and it was louder than any the beast had managed. It stabbed out at him and Worf jumped aside, falling hard to the ground with a terrible burning in his stumped wrist.

Buffy woke up with a sudden twitch on the dirty ground with her head against brick. She saw Worf on the floor bleeding, his hand not far away.

Willow, still covered by Giles, searched her scrap of paper for anything she could use.

Buffy didn't know what to do. She wished she was back home so she could run to Giles' place and get him to go through his books. She couldn't begin to fight it without understanding its strengths and weaknesses. It seemed unbreakable. She looked across to Will and Giles. "Run!" Where was Xander? The others weren't moving. "Get out of here!"

The Demon wasn't stupid. It circled to the staircase exit and blocked their retreat.

Willow had to do _something_. She read from her slip; "Fio inconditus everto!" She waved her hand toward the Demon and a sparkling fairy-light display fizzled around its face. It was a simple disorientation glamour but it was something.

It whirled around and flapped its long sloth arms at the air. Lashing out, it sliced the brickwork, bringing down the opening to the staircase.

Will cursed herself and gave Buffy a sorry pleading look.

The Slayer moved across to Worf and put pressure around his severed wrist. "Where did you say to go before? Which tunnel?"

The Demon continued to fight the fireflies in its face and the speckles of light began to thin out.

At that moment, Cmdr Riker appeared from the tunnel behind Worf. His face was plastered with surprise, followed by horror at the site of Worf's arm. "This way," he ordered. "Help me move him. Get his hand. Quickly!"

Buffy grabbed the bloody appendage and took half of Worf's weight with Riker. She called after the others.

Xander re-entered the chamber with the damaged rifle as Willow and Giles passed by.

The Demon wafted its arms a few more times and was free of the glamour.

"Move!" Riker called as they headed toward his secret room. Willow was the last to leave the chamber and she glanced at her paper, throwing a hand back; "Vestis!"

A barrier field halted the beast's pursuit. It wasn't much – a very weak and cheap trick. Most of what she remembered were old early learning spells.

The group pressed on through the passageways behind Riker as he and Buffy dragged Worf along, and Willow's green spot of guiding light accompanied them.

The Demon soon followed and they heard its stomping pads hitting the ground, powered by thick pillar-like legs. It was running for them.

The team pulled into the sequestered side room in a wave of noise and confusion. Buffy helped the commander pull Worf into Rush's old position by the doorway. Giles, Xander and Willow piled in behind with her magical hovering light bulb. The sound of their attacker drew ever closer.

Salis stood in protest. "I warned you, Riker. Now you have betrayed our location."

Will ignored the Vulcan and raised Worf's cleaved arm, gripping it to stem the blood flow. He looked to Buffy. "Can you stop that thing?"

She in turn looked to Willow.

The young witch, feeling the pressure, knew there was no time. She needed to come up with something. She needed a real shielding spell to barricade the exposed doorway. There wasn't one on her sheet. She had no idea what– Wait…doorway…with walls on either side.

"We could use one of my good old hinged doors about now, huh?" quipped Xander, despite the situation.

Willow was coming close to an idea. It might just work! She knew a spell. An incantation. She _knew_ she knew one…what was it?

Too late. The Demon arrived outside the arched hole in the wall and Salis tripped backwards in surprise. Pardak caught his teacher and they fell.

The abomination outside began to clatter its sharp piranha teeth again, and further down the hall the sound of the electrical storm could be heard as it moved towards them.

Buffy stood before the opening. Could this be her last stand? On some nowhere planet with the Incredible Freak? "Will?"

Willow was brainstorming frantically. A duplication spell – something to extend one material to cover a void…Yes! She spun to the archway with her palms held out "Profero et contego!" she decreed.

Suddenly, like the doors of a starship, the walls on both sides of the opening extended and closed off the room.

The Demon pounded against the brick a number of times before giving up.

Finally, peace and quiet.

They all let out a sigh of relief and sagged; their energy sapped.

Riker was worried about Worf. The ambassador had drifted off but his pulse was still strong.

"How is he?" asked Buffy.

"Stable. But he's losing blood fast. We have to get him out of here."

Salis had regained his composure and directed a finger to the floating green dot of light that hung over them. "What is that?"

Willow looked at the Vulcan in his Jedi-like attire. "It's a guiding light spell," She replied. "And it works," she added proudly.

Salis looked to Riker who shook his head as if to say 'don't ask'.

Pardak approached the new section of wall and felt it with his hands. "How did you achieve this?"

The girls eyeballed the Vulcan and looked at Riker.

How could he explain? "You might want to get an update from Vulcan," he said, dodging the question.

Buffy examined their surroundings. It was a large room full of crevices that housed long-dead bodies, skulls and bones. They'd taken refuge in a crypt. Of course, she said to herself, where else would she be? There was a small fire burning low near Riker, and she noticed the alien officer sat against the wall behind Giles and Xander. His thin neck didn't look strong enough to support his big alien head. She saw the second Vulcan, younger than the one who'd spoken, and dressed in a long brown robe like a devil-eared Obi-Wan Kenobi.

"I thought your people were supposed to be able to stop these creatures," Cmdr Riker challenged.

Buffy looked up. He was talking to her. "It's stronger than most Demons. I think it's…invulnerable."

"But what is it?" he asked in a demanding tone.

The Slayer stuttered; "I…don't…Giles?"

"I'm not sure," Rupert admitted. "Perhaps if I knew more about it. Commander, we were told something took one of your men from upstairs."

"Lieutenant Tremblay," Riker confirmed. "Something cut him down, shredded him like paper, and dragged him away. Something…invisible." Riker shook his head. It still sounded strange to talk of such things. "And we could smell something afterwards…like barbecued meat. Then we were attacked by that…big one you saw just now."

"How many cuts did he receive? Your man Tremblay?"

"What?"

"It could be important, Commander."

Riker considered. He looked down at the three shallow wounds across Worf's chest. "Three," he said. "It was three. Like these."

Giles rubbed at his eyes and considered the evidence. "Deep triple claw marks…Invisible attacker…and burning flesh. …Oh, Lord, no."

Buffy rolled her eyes. "Here it comes."

"Baragnos the Mutilator," said the Watcher. "Invisible in daylight yet burned by it like vampires. Likes to toy with its victims before killing them, often injuring them to stimulate fear. It absorbs the currents of fear through its skin – a thick impenetrable hide of skin."

"Can we weaken it," asked Willow, "by removing fear?"

"It doesn't feed on fear," he answered. "It's more like a drug. …Baragnos was thought to have been banished from the earth realm by the Maya peoples at the turn of the eighth century."

Buffy gave a huff, "Back by unpopular demand thanks to the defeated son of Satan. Great."

Silence followed.

"I do not recognise some of your words," said Salis after a time.

Schlatnak tried to sit up straighter and let out a pained gargle. Willow went to him.

"Their language is native to me," Riker explained to the Vulcan, "and _I_ don't understand what they're talking about."

Willow checked the alien guard over. He was bruised on the side of his head but he seemed to be having trouble with the side of his chest. "Are you hurt here?"

The alien simply looked at her dumbly with his menacing alien eyes. As she looked into them, they seemed to open up to her like the eyes of a sad animal.

"The communicators are damaged," said Riker, "so the translators don't work. He can't understand you."

Willow regarded the alien's black angled eyes again. They no longer looked menacing to her. "What's his name? I mean…is it a he?"

"His name's Schlatnak M'Raknayr. Lieutenant Schlatnak."

She smiled at the alien. "Hi, Schlatnak. I'm Willow. Like the tree." She gave a slight chortle and pressed a hand to his side. He recoiled and gave a loud warble of pain. Will touched his shoulder. "I'm sorry. It's okay." She put up her hands. "I won't do it again." She turned to Riker. "I think he broke a rib or…whatever he has there. It might be sticking in something it shouldn't be. He needs a doctor too." She rubbed Schlatnak's shoulder and sat against the wall beside him.

The commander shut his eyes, gave a nod and dropped his head. The situation was spiralling into disaster.

Buffy considered their tactical options. She'd lost her sword. Worf's had broken. His other weapons too. She realised she still had his hand, but the knife was no longer in its grip. She went to her Klingon Jedi master and tore some of his sleeve away to wrap the hand. Now safe from further dirt and dust she put it down beside him. "Can the doctor fix it?"

"If we get him back before he bleeds to death," said Riker.

Buffy gave him her belt to use as a tourniquet on Worf's arm, and looked around again. She saw the phaser rifle in Xander's hands. It looked damaged. "Does it work?"

Her friend lifted the gun and demonstrated its new foldability. Broken right in the middle and barely held together by wires and circuits. "Anyone know how to fix this thing?" he invited.

Schlatnak put out a long spindly arm to him and he let the alien have the rifle.

"What about you?" Buffy said to the two Vulcan monks. "Do you have anything we could use?"

"Nothing that would aid you in combat," said the older one.

She scowled at them in disbelief. "Don't you people have weapons?" They observed her blankly. "Bows and arrows even? …Swords? …Bread knives? …A pointy stick?"

"This is a spiritual sanctuary," Pardak pointed out.

"I thought you studied logic here," she threw back. "How is that spiritual?"

"Spirituality is not equal to supernaturalism," Salis responded calmly.

"Sounds to me like a contradiction of heart and mind. Of reason and religion."

Pardak came in with his own measured response, "If you follow a sacred path, and remain disciplined in more profound matters regarding nature and life, and have ritual, based purely on a naturalistic understanding of the universe – that is spirituality also."

Buffy gave up. They were veering off into nonsensical areas she couldn't follow. She turned from them to her Watcher. "Giles, we've got no weapons. No defence. How do we stop this thing? I mean, if it's strong enough to bring down a Klingon without breaking a sweat, what can I do?"

He pondered on it a moment, searching his organic memory banks. "If I recall, Baragnos the Mutilator cannot be killed; he must be frozen in ice."

"There's not a lot of ice here, Giles."

He reconsidered. "Wait… No… That could be Bindag the Meddlesome… Ah, think, Giles, think."

Riker could see the man was struggling with his memory. He recalled something else. "We also encountered some kind of green electricity. Like focused lightening."

"Yes," said the Watcher, "we experienced the same thing. It's not an ability of Baragnos. If this lightening force is another Demon, I've never heard of the like. That certainly doesn't prevent it from being one."

"I thought you knew all this stuff."

Giles gave the commander a rather hurt look. "Well…that's why Watcher's have so many books. One can't keep all these facts in one's head."

They took a minute to reflect.

In the green glow of Willow's guiding light, Schlatnak fiddled away with Xander's phaser, removing the power cell from the base and poking at the innards with his long bony digits.

"Any suggestions here?" Buffy said to the monks finally.

Salis looked up. "We are going do die."

"What? That isn't helping."

"However, it is logical," he said. "Without the means of defence against a powerful adversary, victory is impossible."

She couldn't believe these insane people. "It'd help if you even _tried_ to fight it."

"We will _not_ conduct war in a P'Jem monastery. This is a sacred place for purging emotion."

"Yeah? Well I've got a Demon to purge. Thanks for _no_ help." She paced across the room "Logic," she muttered in contempt. "Sounds a lot like a word you use as an excuse to be cowards."

"Buffy!" Giles exclaimed.

"Mind your manners, miss," warned Riker.

She was having none of it. "When you're in an impossible position with no way out, the _logical_ thing to do is to _work_ it out, not give up. What you're talking about isn't _logic_. It's _defeat_."

"That's enough!" commanded the commander.

"Buffy," Giles begged again.

She shut up.

Xander piped up; "Welcome to the Temple of Doom."

Schlatnak began pulling out pieces of the weapon in his hands and laying them on the dusty ground. Willow watched him struggle to get his fingers into the workings and she used her small hands to help.

"So whadda we do?" Harris pushed.

"Demon or no Demon," said Riker, "I need to get you all out of here."

"Baragnos will be trapped here in the shadows until nightfall," Giles surmised.

"It will be nightfall in two of your hours," said Salis.

Riker asked; "What happens at nightfall?"

"Once the sun is down," said Giles, "the Demon can escape the catacombs."

Pardak looked up with a new hope. "Then we should wait…until it leaves."

"We have to capture it," the commander said regretfully. "It's part of the Phantom's mission."

"It's like Alien Three," said Xander. "If we can flush old Bugnuts into a giant mould and douse it in molten lead…"

"These aren't criminal mining monks," Willow pointed out. "They're actual monky monks."

"Monkey monks," he replied with a tickled snort. "Swinging from trees in their robes with their ears… Okay, we're being serious." He went back to watching Schlatnak's progress with his rifle.

Willow looked past Xander at the two Vulcans. The older one was now knelt rigidly in the centre of the room, the younger at the far wall with his legs crossed. She noticed he was rubbing at his knees nervously. Perhaps the younger one hadn't mastered their control of feelings, she considered. Feeling a little guilty that the supernatural horrors of her world had been brought to their doorstep, she got up and went to sit with him.

"Hey," she said softly. "Cold here, huh?"

"It is not too bad."

"Can I ask you something? Oh, I'm Willow, by the way." She offered a hand.

He shook it. "Like the tree."

"Right."

"Pardak is my name."

Riker observed them thoughtfully.

"Can I ask you something, Pardak?" said the redhead.

"You may."

"How do you suppress emotions? I mean…emotions happen naturally. In my experience they're out of control. How do you reel in those animal instincts?"

"It is a mental discipline that Vulcans have learned to master after centuries of violence," he replied. "By meditating and developing an awareness of self. It has saved our people from destruction and elevated us to a higher state of evolutionary development. Here in this monastery we aim to achieve Kolinahr – the complete repression of emotion. It is the highest state a Vulcan can achieve."

Buffy was pacing again. "The problem with repression is…do it long enough and hard enough…at some point you're gonna explode." She had a sudden thought of the feelings she was repressing at the idea that she was stuck here for the rest of her life. Such an unbearable thought. She put it aside. "How does your Kolinahr prepare you for true fear?"

"We have known fear and have learned to control it," stated Salis.

"I've no doubt you've experienced fear. But terror? Absolute crippling terror? Because that's what's on the other side of this wall." Buffy was growing angry again. "Unless we can find a way to hold that Demon off soon–"

"Fire," Riker cut in. "It seemed to be afraid of the flame from the torch." He looked around. "And Schlatnak's scream. It hurt the creature when he screamed. …But how do we ask him to scream? He can't understand us."

Willow crossed back to the alien officer who was beginning to put the rifle back together. She tapped his shoulder and tried to perform a mime for him. She mimed a scary monster, mimed him screaming, and finished by miming a scared monster. He pondered for a few seconds, then nodded with a gargle.

"I think he gets it," Willow said.

Xander gave her a proud pat on the back. "I'll never insult a mime again."

Schlatnak performed his own mime act with the finished rifle, indicating it needed something to hold it in one piece. Xander took the weapon and began wrapping his utility belt around the broken section like a splint.

"We can fight with fire and use his scream to distract it," Buffy reasoned. "It might give the rest of you time to find a way out."

"Violence is not a solution," preached Salis. "It would be wise to open a dialogue with this being to ascertain what it wants."

Buffy shook her head at him. "It's a _Demon_. It wants to kill. …It's our job to kill it before it kills us."

"Violence begets violence," Pardak remarked. "It is illogical."

Salis went on; "I believe there is an Earth expression you may be familiar with – the pen is mightier than the sword. Sometimes the most effective weapon is communication."

Xander lifted his rifle and charged up the power cell. "And sometimes it's a big-ass ray gun."

"Alright," Buffy slipped into Slayer gear. "Giles – make torches from the fire there. Will – be ready with whatever magic you have. Xander – does that thing work now?"

He checked the rifle over. "It's at half power but it should slow old grizzly down."

"Good. So, how do we get out?"

"The stairs," said Pardak.

"Blocked," Riker told him.

"What about the draft?" Rupert asked. "It seemed there was a flow of air from outside. There must be an exit point down here somewhere."

Salis gave it some thought. "The foundations were built over caves in the mountain. It is possible that an opening has formed over the years. We do not visit the catacombs often."

"If there's an opening," Willow said, "I can use the guiding light to find it."

Giles was trying to find something like sticks to use as a torch base. Buffy told him to use the old bones but the Vulcans protested.

It took Riker to stop them committing sacrilege. "Besides," he said, "there's no pitch to keep the flame going."

"We've got my gun and that guy's scream," Xander declared. "I'd say that's as good odds as any."

"And if the electrical disturbance you spoke of occurs again?" asked the older Vulcan.

He had a point, thought Riker. But there were more pressing issues. "We have to get Ambassador Worf out of here now."

"Then we go now," agreed the Slayer.

Xander got to his feet. "I'm locked n' loaded, chief."

Buffy pointed to the alien guard beside Will. "Can he walk?"

Willow tapped Schlatnak's legs and mimed walking with her fingers. He bobbed his large brown head and, with her help, pushed himself up. He was a lot taller than he'd appeared on the Phantom. Will hooked her shoulders under his arm to give him a crutch. He croaked and gurgled something briefly. Maybe 'thanks', she wondered.

"What about Worf?" Buffy said to Riker.

"Give me a hand." The commander realised the inappropriate nature of his words but hoped no one else had noticed. "Help me get him up."

With Buffy's assistance they were able to bring the heavy Klingon to a standing position. Worf seemed to come around slowly for a moment. Then, suddenly, he came to and tried to shake them off, growling and cursing in Klingon. He stopped when he realised who they were, and regarded the throbbing stump at the end of his arm.

He asked where they were and Riker explained. When he was told of their plan to leave, he stuffed his bandaged hand into his belt and signalled he was ready.

To Cmdr Riker he said; "You may release me. I can walk unassisted."

"Don't be ridiculous, Worf. You're injured. I'll take your weight. Well, some of it."

The Klingon struggled against him. "I am an ambassador!"

"Right now you're a patient!" Riker boomed. "So be patient. I've got you, Worf."

He snarled back at him but didn't resist any further.

Soon they were ready; Riker had Worf, Willow had Schlatnak, Buffy, Xander and Giles were behind them with the two Vulcans at the rear. There were nine of them.

Riker didn't mention that the shuttle wouldn't take them all. He didn't even know if they'd all make it. If any of them would make it.

Willow brushed a hand at the wall. "Reverto."

The brickwork moved aside and the doorway returned. The corridor was empty before them. "Guiding light, show us the way out."

The green floating bulb headed out of the crypt and turned right.

They followed.

* * *

Picard traipsed around the bridge of the Phantom, glancing at the planet on the viewer every few seconds, the stations around him beeping away. Data watched him from the side workstation. Picard turned to him and opened his mouth.

The android anticipated the question. "Still no signal from the surface, Captain,"

He sighed. "Any luck penetrating the substructure?"

"I have attempted a full spectrum rotating EM frequency on all bands and amplified the ventral quark resonance scanners. None of my attempts have been successful so far."

Picard sighed again and paced some more. "Bridge to transporter room."

"La Forge here." The engineer also anticipated the question. "Transporters should be up and running in ten, maybe twenty minutes."

"Acknowledged, Commander." He turned back to the screen again, pursing his lips, and exhaled through his nose.

* * *

The guiding light took them deeper into the underground maze, passing dark side tunnels and hidden alcoves. The Scoobs had advanced to the front line with the Vulcans at the rear. Worf and Riker were interlocked as they shuffled along in the middle. Every step of the way, Will Riker feared that the electrical storm or the giant beast would come out from a side tunnel and tear them all apart.

"Commander!" Worf swung around and pushed him aside.

Baragnos was in their midst!

The Klingon attacked awkwardly and was rammed into the wall. The Demon jabbed one of its huge arms into him and Worf took the full length of the claws through his ribs. He roared at the pain.

Everyone stopped but the guiding light continued onward.

Worf felt the sharp talons leave his body and he dropped.

Salis saw the beast coming toward them. Pardak, his student, was in its path. He pulled the younger monk back by his robe and moved across to protect him before he realised what he was doing. The horrible monstrosity came at him with its long nails and he tried to turn away from it.

"Run!" he cried in Vulcan, and felt the pressure against his back as it slashed him and knocked him against the wall.

The Slayer leapt – shoving Riker out of the way – and flew into the Demon with an aerial kick. It knocked the beast forward but it twisted around with its arms out. Buffy barely had time to pull back when she landed and one of the claws cut across her face. She yelped and drew back.

Pardak, panic threatening his emotional control, retreated past the creature and ran. Looking back, he saw the beast reach around Salis in a macabre hug… and tear him apart. The Vulcan screamed and ran away.

Xander moved in and fired a phaser blast into the heart of the monster. It stepped back and growled a low angry rumble.

The floating light was almost out of view and Willow called back; "We need to move! Now!"

Schlatnak opened his strange alien mouth and let out a high pitched squeal. Everyone covered their ears and Baragnos spun about, beating at his head.

The Slayer ran toward it, slid across the ground, and rammed her feet against its huge legs. The Demon staggered forward but didn't fall.

The alien scream subsided and Buffy yelled out; "Will! Take out its legs!"

Buffy jumped aside as the witch pushed her hand and mind forward. One of the beast's legs kicked up from the ground and the balance shift toppled it into the dust.

Riker and Buffy, almost in darkness, picked Worf's lame body up and pressed forward.

When they finally caught up with Willow and the others they were at the very back of the foundations and Pardak was already scrambling through a structural tear in the brickwork of the floor. They could feel the slight airflow as it went through the gap and the faint sound of running water beneath them.

They dragged Worf's body and pushed through into a wet, rocky mountain cave.

They were surrounded by hard lumpy areas of stone with upwardly protruding white sausage-shaped rocks and crystal-like stalactite formations hanging from the ceiling. There was a pool of swirling water at their feet and the sound of a stream feeding it somewhere deep in the cavern beyond sight. A few thin rivers of the clear water were being drawn down away from the main lagoon.

"Keep moving," the Slayer said to the witch as she mopped blood from her face.

Willow held onto the alien guard and trekked over the stony floor of the grotto. The guiding light had gone off on its own somewhere but she could see a faint glimmer of daylight in the direction of the water current. The rest of them took hold of the Klingon and stretchered him along.

When they came to the large opening in the mountainside where the water fell away, they felt no relief. It was a sheer drop that seemed to have no end. Leaning out, they could just see the beginning of the temple foundations above them.

"We're trapped," said Riker.

Pardak was a Vulcan on the verge of hysterics. "There must be a way, Riker! Find a way!"

"Pardak." It was Willow. "Help me with Schlatnak, he's getting heavy."

Cmdr Riker made another mental note as he watched the scared monk apply himself to the task. It was good to give him a responsibility. It might just keep him calm.

Giles was searching the outer rock face desperately. "Can your ship detect us here and transport us out, Commander?"

"We don't even know if the transporter's operational yet," he replied sombrely.

From the depth of the mountain cavern came the sound of Baragnos breaking though to the cave.

Xander crouched with his rifle. "Some kinda plan would be great about now."

Giles took Buffy aside and whispered something. It didn't cheer Riker when she looked at her 'Watcher' in surprise then looked out at the rock face. He knew what was coming.

Buffy moved back into the cave and checked on Worf.

"He's holding on, I think," Riker said.

"I need your cloak," the Slayer said to Pardak.

Within seconds, she had spun the brown robe into a long tight rope, tied it around Worf's armpits, and around her body like a sash. The Klingon was now strapped to her back with his feet dragging on the ground behind her.

"This is insane," Riker pointed out. "He's twice your weight."

The sound of the Demon breaking through stopped. Baragnos was coming.

"There's no time," said the Slayer. "Everyone – climb. Get to the shuttle. Move!"

Riker helped her get underway as she pulled herself and her Klingon cargo out onto the jagged wall of the mountainside.

"What about him?" Willow said of her new alien friend.

Schlatnak pushed himself free of his helpers and stumbled to the opening. He put a palm out to keep them back and croaked something at them.

"I'll follow him up," said Giles.

Xander handed his weapon to the Starfleet commander. "I guess it serves me right for asking," he said and followed them out.

Soon only Riker and Pardak remained in the cave hole, but the Vulcan couldn't seem to take the first step out.

"This…is…impossible," he uttered as he looked out at the vertical climb and the vast drop.

"Stay and die or give yourself a chance out there, Pardak. It's simple logic. Now move out."

The Vulcan still hesitated, until he heard the heavy breath of the monster echo from the cavern. Baragnos was standing among the rounded white stalagmites only metres away.

Riker's eyes widened. By the time he turned back, Pardak was out the hole and racing up the rock face. He followed until he was half in and half out of the opening with the phaser rifle in one hand – directed at the beast.

The Demon advanced quickly and he fired ball after ball of energy into it, sending it into a frenzy and driving it back. The limited capability of the weapon wasn't doing much damage so he threw the gun over his shoulder and climbed.

The initial shock of the wind force almost ripped him from the mountainside. He adjusted and ascended as quickly as he could. The wall of rock was pitted and jagged, making it a potentially successful plan. He could understand why they'd been so ready to try it.

Above him the others struggled and climbed slowly. Beneath him was clear. Too clear. The drop almost took his breath from him. He aimed to turn away and focus on the climb until he saw the claw reaching out of the cave. Then he realised that the sun had disappeared behind the distant mountains and only a faint orange glow lit the far skies.

"It's coming!" he called and pushed himself upward.

Buffy struggled with Worf's heavy load on her back. Looking down, she saw the Demon scaling the wall with its long claws. She scanned above her. The temple foundations weren't far now. She realised the flaw in her plan when she saw the smooth brickwork closing in overhead. There was no other way and she pressed on, reaching up for the thin gap between the first layers of brick.

Riker could hear the Demon slamming its claws into the mountain ferociously as it raced up behind him. He tried to speed up and almost lost his hold. The next thing he knew, the calf of his right leg erupted with pain as it was pinned to the rock. He hissed at the burning sharpness of the claw that pierced him. The Demon pulled back and Riker was free again. He tried to move up but his leg was in shock and numb. There wasn't much he could do as the creature drew up against his back and surrounded him. He closed his eyes and waited for it to take him.

Buffy was hanging on beneath the third brick layer by her fingers but there was no footing above the mountain wall. Worf's weight shifted and she lost the grip of her right hand. She slipped. Her left hand couldn't take the pressure. She found a footing as her hand came free. She began to lean away from the brick as Worf's body pulled her back. She clawed out with her arms but found nothing within reach. She was going to fall!

* * *

"Captain."

Picard went over to Data's terminal.

"I am picking up nine life-forms ascending the mountain-face beneath the west wall of the monastery. Five are Human, one Vulcan, one Monchezken, and one Klingon – very weak."

"And the ninth?"

Data ran a deeper scan. "The ninth reading appears to be Demonoid, sir."

"Bridge to transporter room."

La Forge responded; "I think we're ready here, Captain."

* * *

Buffy's body was arcing away from the wall. Her centre of balance was gone. She was past the point of recovery. She couldn't believe it… she was going to fall…

The world around her suddenly began to sparkle and fizz, and she felt her body lose weight and shiver apart.

The Slayer materialised in the sickbay of the Phantom and collapsed.

* * *

"They're all in sickbay, Captain," reported Ensign Warner from tactical.

"Good. Lock onto the Demon, Ensign, and beam it directly to the brig. Highest possible force field setting."

"Aye, sir. Initiating transport… Level ten force field in place… We've got it, Captain."

Picard gave a nod. "Mr Data – set up a translink to the shuttle and bring it home."

Data complied.

* * *

Buffy recovered and opened her eyes to see two female blue-shirts helping the alien mustard-shirt guard onto a medical bed. She tried to raise herself but the roped cloak that tied her to Worf held her down. She tore the knot from around her breast and clambered up off the deck to find the rest of her group was there. This sickbay was much smaller than on the Enterprise, with only three beds. Two against the side walls and one against a back wall of lit up panels.

Doctor Crusher saw Worf on the floor with a severed hand. There was no sign of the hand around. She got down on her knees and lifted his arm. "Help me get him to the surgical bed."

Giles went for his other arm and Buffy took his legs. Together they raised Worf's large body up and onto the special bed at the rear wall. At the head of the bed was an entire wall of neural and biofunction monitors.

"Help me get this armour off him," said the doctor. When the grey plates were removed, Crusher took the black undershirt in her hands and tore it away from his chest. "Alyssa – I need you here." She turned to Buffy and Giles. "Step aside."

They moved back. Buffy went to check on Xander in the corner, Willow was watching over the alien guy, and Giles helped Commander Riker hobble onto a bed.

Beverly swung the surgical support frame across Worf's bed and locked it down over his upper body.

Nurse Ogawa arrived and set the equipment running. "Steri-field activated."

Crusher examined the main diagnostic display. "He's suffered deep penetrating wounds to the left lateral thorax." They'd pierced right through his lattice ribs.

"The Demon had claws," Buffy mentioned.

Alyssa watched his blood volume statistics come up on the display. They were way low. "Hypovolemia."

"Get the plasma infusion unit," said Crusher. "And we need to reduce his norepinephrine levels."

"Doctor Crusher!" called Bennett from the other end of the room. "We have at least four more injured."

Crusher swept her eyes across the room. The only medical crew onboard were herself, Nurse Ogawa and Nurse Bennett. They weren't prepared for an emergency. "We don't have enough staff for this. Computer – activate the EMH program."

A bald-topped holographic doctor materialised in the centre of the room. "Please state the nature of the medical emergency."

Crusher pointed past him. "Help them."

The Mark-1 Lewis Zimmerman hologram spun around to see what he was faced with. On one side was a mature gentleman and on the other a short ginger girl. He addressed the man; "What are your symptoms?"

"Symptoms?" Giles repeated. "I-I'm fine."

"You're fine? Then why are you here?" He looked the redheaded girl over. "What about you? You don't look ill."

"I'm…not," she replied.

"I see. Rubberneckers. Is there anyone here who actually needs a doctor?"

"Here." The nurse gave him a tricorder and directed him to the beds.

"Thank you. Anyone not injured – out of the way. This is a medical facility not a cattle market."

"Willow, Rupert; I think you should wait outside," said Doctor Crusher.

They were obviously in the way so they both went out into the corridor.

Nurse Bennett followed the EMH around the room with a portable med trolley to administer his treatments.

He ran the medical tricorder's hand sensor up and down Schlatnak's body. "This man has a head contusion and a slight concussion. Three percent hydrocortaline and four cc's of trianoline."

Bennett set to work as the holo-doc examined the officer's injured abdomen.

"Two of his ribs are broken…one is fractured. Give him ten cc's of terakine to alleviate his pain and apply an osteo-regenerator to the wound." He crossed to Riker's bed and examined the puncture wound in his right lower leg. "Well, your Achilles tendon is intact. Wrap a muscular reconstruction band around it for thirty minutes."

Buffy was with Xander beside the bed and the strange fake doctor came to her next.

"Facial laceration," he said without the need of his sensor. He scanned the cut. "Minor muscular and vascular trauma. Fix a vascular pad to the damaged area for a few minutes and polish it off with a dermal regenerator." He eyed Xander's burned hand. "This isn't too bad. Give him three cc's of kelotane and a dermaline gel patch." He snapped the tricorder shut and tossed it to the nurse.

"He said he was feeling a little dizzy from the climb," said Bennett.

"Throw in a dose of vertazine."

Picard entered and was stopped by the Emergency Medical Hologram.

"What are you doing here?"

"I'm the captain."

"Then you're not a doctor. Please leave."

Picard saw Worf lying prone on the surgical bed and moved closer, ignoring the hologram.

The EMH huffed and went back to see to Riker. Bennett was with Schlatnak with the Osteo-regenerator - a tiny round plate with a handgrip – circling it over his ribs.

It was then that he saw Pardak quaking in the corner. "I think we're going to need a counsellor in here."

Captain Picard stood at the foot of Worf's bed where Beverly and Nurse Ogawa were working frantically. "What's his condition, Doctor?"

"His primary heart has been punctured and the redundant organ is damaged," Crusher explained. "I'll have to attempt a coronary bypass." She returned to work. "Four cc's tricordrazine."

Before Nurse Ogawa could administer the hypo, Worf's entire body began to shake. It was the most horrific seizure Picard had ever witnessed.

"Hyperzine!" ordered Crusher. "Twenty cc's!"

Alyssa administered the drug. "He's going code white, Doctor!"

Crusher thought quickly. She needed to apply direct reticular stimulation to try and get his redundant organs going. "Begin neural stimulation."

Alyssa worked the medical frame controls. "It isn't working. There's too much damage to his cardial tissue."

"Two cc's quadroline." She tried another series of neural stimulations.

The monitors began bleeting a warning. His brain was switching off. "Cortical stimulator!"

Picard grew increasingly concerned. "What's happening?"

Ogawa gave her the cortical device for Worf's head.

"I'm losing him," she said to Picard, and triggered the stimulator.

Zap. …Zap. …Zap…

"No effect," reported Alyssa.

"His blood loss is too severe. The plasma infuser isn't replenishing his system quickly enough." Because Worf was a Klingon and not human, Crusher decided to use the strongest resuscitation/stimulant combo she thought he could handle. "Alyssa… give him thirty cc's of leporazine and delactovine at a sixty-forty ratio."

Alyssa stared back. "Doctor?" Crusher looked at her severely. She programmed the medication and delivered it.

They waited tensely.

For a moment the main display indicated the onset of brain activity and signs that Worf's organs were oxygenating. Then they went cold again.

Crusher hit the bed. "Damn it. Increase cortical stimulation and initiate in tandem with a neural charge."

Bip-Zap.

"Again."

Bip-Zap.

"Again."

Bip-Zap.

"Doctor?" Picard was pale.

Riker pushed himself up on one elbow and Buffy moved toward the bed in shock.

Crusher paused and leaned against the surgical frame. She looked across to her captain. "He's…gone, Jean-Luc."

Picard couldn't speak.

* * *

On the Phantom's bridge, Ensign Warner had made the decision to call Ensign Parks to duty. Worf had been temporary Chief of Security with Lt. Schlatnak as his second. They were both in sickbay now, leaving just himself on staff with a hostile captive in the brig.

Warner was about to buzz Parks when his terminal detected something moving in on their location. "Commander, long-range sensors are picking up a vessel coming in fast."

Data checked the sensor readings on his own terminal. It picked up the vessel – approaching the outskirts of the system at warp five.

* * *

A deadened silence had enveloped the sickbay.

Dr Crusher turned off the bio-monitors as Worf's lifeless body lay static on the surgical bed.

After a long time, Buffy broke it; "Today was a good day to die," she acknowledged in a poignant echo of the Klingon expression.

The others reacted with surprise to her insensitivity until they saw her face and realised she was being woefully respectful to his culture.

"Send me back to the planet," she proclaimed.

Picard looked at her askance. "What?"

"I'm going back down there to kill it."

"The Demon?" he asked. "The Demon is here. In the brig."

"Where's that? Take me to it."

Picard wanted to see the thing for himself. To look into the eyes of the monster that had taken Worf. But the creature needed to be studied, not killed. He looked on as Dr Crusher removed the surgical clamshell frame and began clearing the medical devices from Worf's body.

"Data to Picard."

Beverly took out a grey sheet and laid it over the Klingon. Picard had never seen him so still.

Data's voice came over the comm again; "Bridge to Captain Picard."

"…Picard here," he replied finally in a tone as dead as the atmosphere in the room.

"Captain, a Vulcan science vessel is entering the system."

"I'll be there in a minute." He looked around the room in a daze. "Is everyone else all right?"

"We're fine, sir," Riker assured him.

Picard's eyes happened upon the crouched and trembling monk. "What about him?"

"He's in shock, Captain," said the over-confident EMH. "He'll require counselling. Now, if you don't mind, I'd like to bring some order back to this sickbay, starting with the removal of that body."

Picard's temper snapped. "Computer – discontinue EMH program!"

The EMH doctor appeared insulted for a moment before he evaporated.

"Remain here," the captain said to Buffy sternly, and left the room.

* * *

"Where is the Vulcan ship now, Mr Data?" Picard asked as he entered the bridge.

"They are in orbit two hundred kilometres ahead of our position."

Geordi arrived from the transporter room and went to the engineering station.

Picard considered the situation. "Have they sent anyone to the surface yet?"

"No, sir."

"Hail them."

Counsellor Troi was back on communications. "They're hailing _us_, Captain."

"On viewer." A simple bridge appeared with a grey-haired Vulcan standing in the centre. "I am Captain Jean-Luc Picard of the Federation Starship Phantom."

"Tarok, Captain of the science vessel Sh'Reen. We are responding to a distress beacon from one of our spiritual outposts."

"As were we," explained Picard. "There has been…an incident. I will have the details sent to you." He signalled Troi to get on that. "The monastery has been attacked. I'm afraid we were only able to rescue one of the clerics, but we do have the assailant in custody. However, there may still be a threat on the surface. Our away team encountered some kind of belligerent energy source in the underground tunnels – possibly a life-form – that has not been accounted for."

Captain Tarok pondered his words. "This life-form is still within the monastery?"

"We believe so. But our sensors are unable to penetrate the substructure of the site."

"The ossuary is a sacred resting place, Captain. Prior to the P'Jem's construction, the foundations were saturated with a unique barrier field to protect the artefacts and remains within. Our sensors can be calibrated to scan those areas. I will share our findings with you."

"I would appreciate that," said Picard. He felt extremely uneasy that the Vulcans were getting involved in this unusual situation. "Captain Tarok…the nature of this attack… may be difficult to explain."

"We have been apprised of the Phantom's long-term mission brief, Captain. I assume that this incident is related to the Epsilon Ursae conflict involving entities from an alternative quantum universe."

Picard faltered, surprised that the news had got around so quickly. "…That's correct."

"We will take every precaution. Sh'Reen out."

The image of Delta Vindi returned and Captain Picard said to Troi; "Send them our specialised sensor configurations. If there's anything unnatural down there I don't want them to miss it."

The counsellor agreed and prepared the data transfer.

Picard moved toward the door and stopped. There was something he had to say. He just wasn't sure how to say it. "I…have some sad news." The bridge crew turned their attention to him. He regarded their expectant faces gravely, which only served to heighten the concern he saw there. He would just have to tell them. He gathered himself. "Ambassador Worf… has died."

Troi audibly gasped and Geordi's mouth opened in shock. Even Data's bird-like tilt of the head, and the subtle way his face dropped, showed a depth of feeling at the bombshell.

Captain Picard turned and departed quickly. "Data, you have the bridge." The doors hissed shut behind him.

Deanna fought her own numbness and nausea, and reeled her emotions in. Regaining her composure, she went after her captain.

Warner didn't know the Klingon as well as the command crew, and he was the one to respond when the comm station sounded. He changed seats and reported; "The Vulcans have located the equipment we left on the surface, Commander. They're not planning on sending anyone down there yet, but they're ready to transport the items to the Phantom."

Data rolled back to his computer. "Acknowledged. I will synchronise our transporter with theirs. Have Professor O'Brien prepare to receive the items." He then turned to face La Forge and shared a grievous look with his friend.

* * *

Deanna found her captain alone in the brig, standing before the cell that held Worf's monstrous killer. She approached him tentatively, unsure what words she could offer. In fact, she wished there was someone to offer _her_ some comfort.

Picard's voice, quiet and deep, rattled as he spoke. "It's just an animal."

She looked ahead to the cell where the large creature stood huddled in a corner breathing heavily. The walls around it grazed with numerous claw marks. "Would you feel better if it was capable of intelligent thought?" she asked.

"Yes. I think I would. Because then it could be held accountable."

Deanna did something then that was a little unorthodox, but it was something she needed to do for herself more than anything. She put an arm around Picard's back, her other hand on his arm, and rested her face against his shoulder. He didn't protest as she took comfort.

In the cell, the Demon stirred, and turned its large body around until they saw the fish-like head that covered its chest. The big eyes, like those of a tuna fish, examined them as its claws clicked together. And then it seemed to mock them with a low breathy snicker of amusement.

"Did you see that?" Picard tensed. The creature stood motionless and watched them. "What do you sense from it?"

"Nothing," Deanna replied. "I see an image with no substance. It's a ghost to me."

Picard's communicator sounded.

"Data to Picard."

"Go ahead, Commander."

"Your presence is required on the bridge."

_What now_? "On my way." The captain took one last look at the creature…and left.

* * *

Picard strode onto the bridge, the viewer showing the curve of the planet below and the small Vulcan ship. "Report."

Data turned in his chair. "A few minutes ago, a number of items that belonged to our away teams were beamed from the surface to our transporter room by the Sh'Reen." He checked his readout. "I am now detecting a concentrated electrostatic energy field leaving the planet's orbit. It appears to be travelling along the energy residue of the transporter matter stream. It is supernatural, Captain."

The electrical disturbance Rush had mentioned! "What's its heading?"

Data checked. "It is moving toward us. If it continues at its current speed it will impact the hull in seventeen seconds."

"Red alert. Raise shields."

The red lights ignited around the bridge with a warning siren as Ensign Warner fired up the defence grid. Seconds later, the Phantom shuddered.

"Damage report."

"The shields are gone," said Warner.

The bridge lights and consoles flickered.

"What's happening?"

"The entity is passing through the hull, sir."

"Where is it, Data?"

The android struggled with his computer. "I am having difficulty with the internal sensors, Captain. The entity is disrupting our systems." He followed the pattern of disruption. "It appears to be heading for the brig."

* * *

Buffy was fixed, the cut to her face repaired, and the others were almost back to full health. Everyone but Worf. His body still lay covered on the surgical bed. She remembered when Worf's aid, Gor'agh, had died on the zombie station. Worf had given a howl to warn some god-like dead warriors in heaven that another was joining them. She wanted to do that for him, but held back.

The doors opened and the curly-haired Irishman entered. Miles O'Brien had brought their weapons from the transporter room; Gor'agh's bat'leth, now hers, and Worf's own broken sword. He saw the covered body and looked to Doctor Crusher.

She gave him a sorry look. "It's Worf."

O'Brien, who had worked for some years with the Klingon, was taken aback. "My God."

In the next moment the warning sirens flared and the entire sickbay shook around them.

* * *

The corridors of the USS Phantom were quiet, turning blood red with the flashing of the alert beacons. In the brig, Ensign Parks felt a sudden shudder of fear. He'd just been posted to guard the caged monster – such a horrific beast – when the room grew dark and began to glow red. It was like a nightmare – a dimly lit room on a ship under attack with a monster just feet away, held back by only an energy field.

Parks shivered when he looked in the cell. The beast held its clawed arms out and growled. He didn't know it, but the Demon was basking in his fear.

Then it came from nowhere – a green electrical disturbance – and attacked the force field protecting the cell. Parks was moved by panic, reaching for the rifle over his shoulder.

The Demon was free. His phaser was set to stun and he fired into the monster's belly. No effect. He set it to kill and fired again. The creature paused, but only for a moment, before it came at him. Before Parks could reset his weapon to disintegrate, he was struck by the full force of the Electro-Demon, his flesh burning up as the green lightening irradiated his body.

Parks fell dead, and Baragnos made his escape.

* * *

"The prisoner is escaping the brig," called Warner.

Picard spun. "Who do we have on security?"

"Ensign Parks, sir."

"Have him intercept the creature, and try to contain it with a force field."

"Sir… I had him watching the brig."

Picard paused. Another man lost… He headed for the door. "Get on those force fields. Data – with me."

* * *

"What's happening?" Buffy asked.

Doctor Crusher moved to a wall panel and brought up a ship-wide report. "There's an entity onboard and the prisoner is loose." She turned. "Everyone stay put. Secure the doors."

The Slayer whipped her bat'leth from O'Brien's grip and darted out of the room.

Revenge!

* * *

Baragnos the Mutilator stalked through the passageways of the USS Phantom, his enormous elephant feet pounding into the carpet, as he searched the decks for human meat sacks to bleed dry of their fear. Every few metres, a wall of energy would appear to block his path, and every time the Electro-Demon would short it out to give him passage. On reaching the turbolift, the Demons separated; Baragnos broke through into the shaft and climbed to the next level as the green lightening creature headed for the source of the energy walls.

* * *

Picard and Data edged through the Phantom, Picard gripping a hand phaser and Data with a rifle. They were moving cautiously toward the brig when Warren's voice came over the comm.

"Bridge to Captain Picard – the force field generators are under attack from the energy being, sir. I can't maintain them much longer, and the prisoner is moving up to deck twothrough the lift shaft. We're reading damage to the turbolift, Captain."

They acknowledged and headed for the Jefferies tubes.

* * *

Baragnos clawed his way out of the elevator shaft and onto the next floor of the space vehicle. Once he was upright, he got a sudden feeling part of him didn't like. There was someone ahead. Someone not afraid, but enraged.

The Slayer.

Baragnos ignored the part of him that didn't like this, and went with the part of him that wanted to taste Slayer fear as he tore her into pretty little strips. He stomped forth and came around a bend to find her poised in the corridor, a curved sword resting across her inner arm.

She was ready for him.

Buffy regarded the monster through burning red eyes as it stood there before her, slavering down its chin and stomach.

"You killed a friend of mine," said the Slayer. "Now I'm gonna kill you."

Baragnos spat a ball of saliva into the carpet.

She couldn't hold herself back any longer. She hated the vile fish-featured demonic pachyderm!

The Slayer charged like a lamb toward a bull. A lamb to the slaughter.

She ducked beneath a swipe from the creature's paw. She knew her blade was useless against the Demon and she didn't want to smash it apart like Worf had, so the Slayer hooked her bat'leth around one of the Demon's ankles and tried to pull his fat elephant foot out from under him. It worked, or it started to, then Baragnos slammed his huge stumpy leg back to the carpet, dragging the Slayer to the floor. With one powerful arm, Baragnos skewered a set of razor nails into Buffy's shoulder blade and flung her spinning into the bulkhead and to the deck.

The pain in her shoulder, three oozing wounds right through her body, made her cry out.

She cursed herself. _So easily maimed! Stupid!_ She hated the fact that the Demon's skin was invulnerable when her own was so weak.

…_Wait_, she thought; suddenly having a flash of Slayer inspiration.

* * *

Federation Temporal Agent Marko Hellström was tucked away in his cramped quarters passing the time (a saying he never ceased to find ironic pleasure in using) with one of his favourite quests. The red alert didn't bother him, his job was done, and he had far more pressing matters at hand.

There was something about cheese. It was indefinable, indescribable, and innovational. There were so many varieties to choose from – and that was just the plain old cheeses, not to mention the cheeses with fruit and the cheeses with spices. But what he really liked, more than any other food he'd tasted in all his life, was a freshly prepared toasted cheese and onion sandwich made with some mysterious unknown cheese on a transport vessel between Almerillon and Mars in March, 2359.

He had a list on his private padd of every known cheese he'd tried since that day, in his long-running effort to find that one perfect cheese he'd tasted all those years ago. In his hand was a replicated toasted cheese and onion sandwich containing cheese number 942: Vulcan 1-year fermented cheese.

He lifted the crisp little triangular sandwich to his mouth and took a great bite with anticipation. He chewed it three times and spat the mush back onto his plate.

_Ugh_. No, that wasn't it. What was next on the Phantom's database? Cheese number 943: Green Breen Brie.

Then he heard a bang from outside as something heavy hit the wall of his room.

Hellström opened his door to see what the commotion was and found the blonde girl – the one from the other timeline's past – squirming and bleeding on the floor of the corridor. He was about to say something to her when his attention was drawn to the massive horror that was Baragnos the Mutilator.

Hellström's open mouth let out a faint whine at the sight of the Demon as it took a swipe at his head. The Agent from Temporal Investigations would later realise how lucky he was to have been protected by the doorway of his room as sharp claws tore across the opening and cut into his face. The man fell back screaming and his door slid shut.

* * *

The Slayer's mind was working, even faster when she saw the Timecop go down. The main idea she was having was the realisation that the Demon's skin was unbreakable, like an outer shell. She used her good arm to come up swinging, fired by anger, hatred, inspiration and adrenaline.

She smacked the back edge of her bat'leth across the Demon's fishy snout and its arms went up. The huge Demon opened its toothy maw and let out a deep groan at the sour pain of having the tip of its nose clubbed. Or was it just a bit miffed?

The Slayer didn't much care. It was time for the fatal strike.

She turned the bat'leth until the blades were aimed upward and she plunged the tip deep into the Demon's open mouth, through the upper palate of it, and into its brain.

Baragnos gargled, loosened up, and tipped over like a stone statue onto his back with the bat'leth arching out from inside his face.

The triumphant Slayer stood over his body and took a moment to consider her revenge.

The Demon had fallen. They always did.

"Crunchy on the outside, chewy on the inside," she quipped sourly, and tore her bat'leth free.

Her moment of reflection was cut short when the green cloud of electricity materialised up through the deck ahead of her. It seemed to notice her there. The Slayer had no means of defence when the Electro-Demon moved in on her.

Picard and Data rounded the corner and the captain fired his phaser into the centre of the disturbance. There was no effect as the beam passed right through the energy force.

The rifles had more setting options. "Try a wide-dispersal beam," Picard suggested.

Data followed his instructions and fired a wide blast that encompassed the energy Demon across its whole surface, but the result was no better. It came for them and Data quickly stepped forward to protect his captain.

* * *

When Buffy had left sickbay she'd told Willow to stay put. She didn't argue because it was clear Buffy was out to lunch and the Slayer was in charge of the shop. She and Giles had taken refuge in the safety of sickbay and waited there as the on-screen reports rolled in. It was only a matter of time before Willow had to do something to help.

Now she was in the aisles on deck two, heading for the sound of weapons fire. She reached the others and it all happened suddenly.

She saw Data protecting Picard, saw electro shooting toward him.

_Data_! _No_! She didn't think. Willow lashed out with her hands open and blocked the Demon with her Wiccan force push.

Electro was held back by it and shoved away down the corridor. It came at them again and Will moved ahead of the Starfleets to keep it at bay. When it was clear to the Demon that the road was blocked, it turned the other way. Willow realised that Buffy was now in its path and, again, she didn't think. She just reached out instinctively to protect her friend and trapped the creature in an invisible force bubble.

She was as surprised as any of them. She wasn't sure how she'd done it… she just had. It was a new development for her. "I think I got it."

Picard went to her. "Can you direct it back into the brig?"

She didn't even know how she was holding it. "I can try."

The Captain led them to a tight emergency stairwell in the ship's wall and Willow pushed the energy Demon along before them. Buffy was right behind her.

"What's with the Jedi force grab, Will?" asked the Slayer.

The young witch gave her a wide-eyed glance and shrugged.

They arrived at the brig to find Park's charred corpse. They had to step over him to get in the room. Data crossed to the control centre.

"Get it into the cell," Picard said to Willow, and joined the android.

"The force fields were ineffective on this entity, Captain," Data reminded him.

Picard recalled that the isolation field had worked on Rhamhal's supernatural force of mastery. "Try a subspace isolation field with an adaptive phase modulation."

As Will pushed Electro into the open cage, Data prepared the bars.

Within seconds they were secure. The isolation field worked perfectly; the Demon could not break through it.

Picard had one living energy Demon and a big Demon corpse to hand over to Starfleet's new Paranormal Research Department for examination and study. He hoped that, finally, he could relax. This world of the Slayer was far too serious for his liking.

"Oh," Buffy piped up, "that Timecop guy could probably use a doctor."


	8. What's My Line Again?

-** Buffy Meets Star Trek 2**-

**_Death & Destiny_**

- What's My Line Again? -

**08**

Willow was aware that the U.S.S. Phantom wasn't in the best shape. Electro had scrambled a fair few systems on its rampage through the small starship and she got the impression Picard wasn't happy, and Geordi was fairly embarrassed. The Enterprise crew had possession of the Phantom barely a full day and were taking it home with more than a few dents in the fender. She thought Picard must be feeling like he'd borrowed his dad's car for the day and wrecked it.

Once they'd caught Electro, and Buffy had felled the beast, it had taken La Forge and O'Brien just a couple of hours to get enough systems running to fly home.

They were on their way back to Earth's Spacedock now, with one or two meetings on the schedule…

* * *

Willow walked into sickbay and found the holographic doctor was on staff again. The counsellor was there helping Riker to walk on his healed leg and it looked like the emergency doc was preparing to discharge the commander. In the three beds were Buffy and Hellström, both out cold after their surgery, and the alien officer with the large head. Buffy looked fine after her shoulder repair and Hellström still had wrapping over his face. Apparently he'd been severely injured.

"Soon they'll both be up and running as normal, with just some tenderness in the effected areas," said the holo-doc when he saw her hovering.

Willow forced a smile. She felt a little off talking to a fake person, even though he looked so real. But she knew he only had substance in this room. "I heard," she replied. "I wanted to see if he was okay." She pointed to the alien she'd helped on the surface.

"Lieutenant Schlatnak? He's doing fine. He'll be out of here by the time we reach Earth."

Schlatnak perked up when he heard his name and looked to Willow. He was lying with his long-fingered hands over his damaged ribs. His alien thinness gave him a frail look.

She went over to his bed. "Hi. It's me – Willow. I didn't get to introduce myself properly on the planet back there with all the translator problems, so I thought I'd come say hey." She made a little wave. "Hey."

Schlatnak sat up. "Willow, friend," he said enthusiastically. "Before, you kindness of I. I thank of you. Later, joyful action may think?"

Willow's brain glazed over. "…Um…" she looked to the EMH.

"I see you're unfamiliar with Monchezken language structure. He said thank you for being kind to him earlier and he'd like to know if you'll spend some recreational time with him in the future."

"Oh… sure. I mean…I'd like to… it's just…" It wasn't like she didn't want to hang out with him or anything, she just wasn't sure how she could make sense of his speech.

The doctor noticed her misgivings. "Monchezken is a very simplified language often following a noun-object-verb format. 'Of' represents an action taking place or that took place. 'At' represents an intention, which can help to identify a future tense pattern in most cases. But they have no future or past tense. You have to evaluate the context in order to decipher the grammatical tense intended. The words 'before' and 'later' were introduced into their language to make interaction with other species' less confusing."

She was none the wiser. "I thought the universal translator converted the meaning."

"It's not always possible to translate tenses from one language to another," said Deanna. "Some languages, like his, don't even use them."

Willow looked back to Schlatnak with a pained expression. After everything, she was still no closer to communicating with him.

The Monchezken blinked his huge eyes and angled his head at her in sympathy. "Fast learning," he said hopefully.

* * *

Captain Jean-Luc Picard and Rupert Giles entered the Phantom's readyroom.

"We've reached a point now where decisions need to be made," said Picard, pressing buttons on the replicator and taking two cups of tea. He handed one to Giles and sat behind the desk. "I can see that the supernatural element out there remains as great a threat as Rhamhal was to our universe. Something must be done, strategically, on our part to tackle this situation effectively."

Giles took the guest chair and agreed.

"Starfleet PRD – the Paranormal Research Department – need someone like you to help them understand this world of yours. What you can teach them can be passed on to the future crew of this vessel as it hunts the remaining Demons."

"Why not have me out here with Buffy where I can guide the Phantom crew directly?" asked Giles.

Picard strained. "Rupert, if this ship were to be destroyed, with your entire team onboard, all the combined knowledge you have of the supernatural will be lost. And the means to combat it along with."

Giles couldn't argue there. But the idea of teaching this 'PRD' everything he knew troubled him. "If today has taught me anything it's that I can't really be sure what I know. Memory is such a random database, full of snippets of information easily confused. If I'd had my books before going down to that monastery we would have known what we were dealing with and how to fight it. I don't know what I can teach without those resources at my disposal."

Picard considered the man's words at great length. Indeed, if he'd had his books, those mythical and all-important books he was forever advertising, Worf might still be alive.

"Captain," Giles said after a time. "I wanted to have a word with you regarding Spike."

Picard pricked up his ears.

"I think the incident with his escape attempt today goes to prove that teaching him too much about how to survive here alone would be a mistake," Rupert confessed. "If he'd known how to pilot that shuttlecraft of yours, he would have been gone before Buffy could have stopped him."

"Yes," said Picard with a slow emphatic nod. "Rupert, I've been considering the same thing. As long as he is dependent on someone else here he can be controlled, contained, observed."

"Controlling Spike will not be an easy task by any degree."

"I'd like you to be his custodian."

Giles gaped. "_Me_?"

"I feel I can depend on you, of all people, to be a judicious watcher."

The term 'Watcher' had suddenly taken on a new and disturbing meaning. But he understood the captain's logic. Still, now he wished he'd never mentioned Spike.

* * *

Deanna roamed the corridors of the USS Phantom, still reeling from the loss of Worf. He hadn't just been a fellow officer and friend to her. A few years earlier they had almost started a relationship and now her feet were carrying her toward comfort. Toward another man that was close to her heart. She found Will Riker in the mess hall alone, sitting, staring at a metal cup she suspected had more than synthohol in it.

"Will? What are you doing in here?"

He didn't look up. "There's no space to think on this ship."

His emotions were like a raging fire in her mind. Will was hurting and angry – inwardly angry. And afraid. …_Imzadi_…

She sat across from him and gripped his hand in hers. "Missing the Enterprise?"

"Missing the way things used to be before spooks and monsters invaded our lives." He rolled the liquid around in his tankard. "You know I didn't really believe in them until that squid Demon got into my head on Trader's World." He shoved the drink to one side and sat back. "It turned me against Worf." There was regret in his eyes, and in his heart. "One of the last things I ever said to him was that I'd kill him."

Troi knew what such a threat would mean to a Klingon. "At least he didn't take it seriously."

"He punched me in the face."

"He liked you, or you'd be dead. Worf understood the situation. Believe me, that would never have been his last memory of you."

Riker gave in to her science of reasoning, leaned on the table and rubbed his bearded face. He huffed. "What are we going to do?" he asked her. "We live in a world of evil now. Real evil."

"It's also now a world of heroes," she encouraged. "Heroes who'll help us to adapt. With them we can fight the evil. We've already achieved great things together and stopped countless Demons."

Riker wasn't convinced by her optimism. "We're going to pay a heavy price for every one of those creatures we bring in."

She thought of Worf again, and said nothing.

"What's that?" Will asked, pointing to a small padd in Deanna's hand.

"Oh," It took her a moment to recall what she was holding. "Something Willow asked me to pass on to the captain. You should probably review it first." She offered it to him but he waved it off.

"You should take care of it," he said, then realised he was being selfish and thoughtless. "Sorry… I know I don't have a right to act this way. You were closer to Worf than I was. I'll read it." He took the padd from her.

She didn't much like the surge of jealousy she was getting from him. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Then there was guilt and the clear sense he was beating himself up inside. "Nothing. Nothing. I'm sorry. I'm just… I'm tired." He got up, put a gentle hand to her cheek and kissed the top of her head. "Let's talk later."

He looked worn as he left her there in the mess hall. She didn't follow him. Clearly he needed time alone. But not too much, she told herself.

She checked the tankard and smelt the contents. Her nose creased. It was strong – one of Earth's spirits – whisky or vodka or something. Her Imzadi was going to need her.

She took the cup and emptied it down her throat.

She was going to need her Imzadi too.

* * *

"Do you know why I've called you here, Miss Rosenberg?"

Willow examined Picard's face nervously, hoping she wasn't in trouble for something. His expression was both warm and stern, so she decided to hope for the best. "Is it because of the recommendations I put forward?"

"Recommendations?"

"The ones I gave to Counsellor Troi," she squeaked. The captain obviously had no idea what she was talking about and she couldn't imagine what else might have given him reason to call her into his office.

"I haven't received those yet," he said.

She had a nagging feeling he was going to reprimand her for some reason and she nervously began reciting her recommendations; "Well…I was thinking…things really need to change around here if your people want to safely catch all the loose Demons. You need a supernatural database for starters – something anyone can access – with lists of Demons and their weaknesses, and spells and things. And I think there are gems and potions that could shield a starship from most paranormal attacks – like the Electro Demon. But that involves spells and charms and stuff that I don't have. And I've been thinking; maybe there's a way to replace your phaser guns with specially developed concusive energy weapons. There's this spell, see, called a 'deslavo', I used it on…" she paused when she realised what she had to say next. "…On Worf…when I first arrived here. If I can just figure a way to package it in a gun so anyone can use it. It'd be more effective than the ones you have at least. And I think we need to have individual protection pouches for all away team members in future." Picard looked interested in her ideas, but it was time for the bad news. "But I can't do half this stuff without my spell books and supplies." She stopped and Picard continued to regard her with that expression. She wondered if it was interest after all, or simply politeness. "…But…that's not why you asked me here."

"No," replied the captain. "I've spoken to Commander Riker." He seemed to rise up in his seat and his eyes were glowing. "Miss Rosenberg, today you showed an admirably professional affinity and rapport with Starfleet officers and civilians in the field. In a stressful situation you elicited trust and showed great compassion and understanding even when language was an impossible barrier. Your skills with computer systems – even ones as complicated as ours – is remarkable for someone of your time. I would like you to seriously consider a career with Starfleet. What you do is entirely your decision, but I foresee a great future for you. You have amazing potential. It would be a shame not to see it developed. Starfleet can offer you the chance to reach that potential, and to exceed it."

Willow was stunned. She failed to hide her surprise and Counsellor Troi's voice echoed in her head; _Be all you can __be!_

* * *

It was late when Picard entered the mess hall and found only Beverly and Deanna there. The mood was sober.

"Finished all your meetings?" Beverly asked.

The captain collected a light meal from the food replicator and sat with them. "Until the one I have with the head of Starfleet Command. One I'm not looking forward to." He couldn't get one repeating thought out of his mind: _I should never have let Worf go down there…_

"I'm sure it won't be that bad," said Deanna.

"A Federation Ambassador is _dead_ because of my actions," he said. "It was against regulations for me to send him into a hostile situation."

"You didn't send him," Troi stated. "He volunteered. You needed a warrior, and Worf was that – above and beyond all else – including being Ambassador to Kronos."

"He died the way he would have wanted," Beverly pointed out. "For that, Worf would have thanked you."

Their words gave him some small comfort. He certainly needed to hear that. It was just… "I doubt Starfleet Command will see it that way. Not to mention the Federation President."

Beverly scoffed. "To hell with them."

Picard played with a small square of seasoned chicken on his plate before dropping the fork. He wasn't hungry after all. "We've lost so much now at the hands of these Demon creatures." He sounded tired, and defeated. "We can't continue facing them without knowing how to react to them and, if necessary, how to fight them. Something must be done to strengthen our position and improve our knowledge."

Beverly sensed there was more to what he was saying. "What do you have in mind, Jean-Luc?"

His face soured over. "I'd rather not say. Something Starfleet Command probably won't approve."

The doctor's eyes narrowed. "What are you up to?"

He looked back at her but remained mute on the subject.

"Fine." Crusher wasn't going to get his secret out of him so she gave in and stood up. "I should get back. I left the EMH in charge and I dread to think what he's done with the place while I've been gone."

"That reminds me," said Picard, "I think we need to do something about the EMH program. He's… very rude."

"I think they rushed to finish the Phantom and just threw in an old EMH system," said Crusher. "I'm putting in a recommendation for two doctors on this ship in future assignments."

The captain thought about that. Taking the highly dangerous nature of the Phantom's mission into account, it was a sensible idea. "With all things considered, I'll back that proposal."

* * *

Buffy was still numb. It was that same numbness she'd felt when they'd first arrived on this side of reality. Lost, helpless, trapped, and then numb. She didn't feel worried about her mom and Dawn so much anymore, which told her that she'd accepted the fact that an identical version of herself really did reach Sunnydale. But the reality of having to spend the rest of her life here, never seeing mom, Dawn or Angel again (_Oh, and Riley of course_, she added mentally) was more than her constitution could handle. It felt to her like a death sentence. Or a terminal diagnosis. It weakened her. She had no idea how to survive.

She slowly began to notice that Giles was talking, like he was drifting towards her through a fog. She rubbed at her sore shoulder. It would be healed by tomorrow.

Tomorrow, she realised, was what Giles was talking to them about. The whole gang was there in the small conference room, the only place on the entire ship large enough for them to have a private meeting. Around the under-lit table were Buffy, Willow, Xander (who was peeling the gel patch from his healed hand and screwing it up into a ball) and Anya. Spike was perched _on_ the table, at the far end, with his boots on a chair and Giles was standing (A little nervously, Buffy noted. Not a good sign.)

"The question we must ask ourselves," Giles was saying, "is where do we go from here?"

Xander said; "I'd like to be the first to volunteer Spike for dissection."

"Screw you, Captain Jelly-legs."

"_What_?"

Spike started shaking his legs in mock fear. "'Ooh, I don't like space, I don't like it, take me home, take me home.'"

Xander threw the balled-up gel patch at the vampire's head.

Giles thought it best to be up-front and get the worst of it over with; "We can't all stay together." The reaction was as stunned as he'd expected. He explained; "We are the supposed experts on the supernatural. If we were to remain together and the ship carrying us was to be destroyed, who will be left to fight evil?"

The room seemed to fall into silent contemplation, as no one wanted to face the thought of not staying together.

Willow was the first to speak up. "I think I'm going to stay here. Starfleet's gonna need help hunting the Demons, and I think I can learn a lot from them while we're at it."

Buffy had hoped they'd all be going to Earth for a vacation before going out together as the Space Scoobs. It was closer to the idea of home that she had in her mind.

She protested but Giles cut her down; "I think Willow's idea is a good one, Buffy. They need someone out here on the frontline when they go looking for the remaining Demons. I…have agreed to go back to Earth and try to help the new Starfleet Paranormal Research Department build a database. They need to be aware of everything I know about Demons and their weaknesses."

Buffy didn't know what to do. She didn't want to split up. They were each a part of a bigger machine that worked most effectively as one. She needed the company of Willow but she needed Giles too. And what would life be like without a Xander? In this universe they were stuck in, Demons were the only things they really knew - their only tie to home. How could they not fight them as a team?

"Buffy," Giles went on, "I think you should be out here fighting. But it's your choice. There is no Council here - no line of Slayers to replace you. It's a chance for you to make a new life if you want one."

"Doing what?" She shot back. "There a Doublemeat Palace chain here? I'm built to fight."

"Well, you have some time to think about it. In the meantime, Spike, you're coming with me to Earth."

Spike choked. "The hell I am, old man."

"You want to stay out here?" asked Rupert.

"…Well, no."

"Unless you wish to be treated as a hostile, which I'm not opposed to, you need to stay with me. Call it a condition of your release."

The Vampire couldn't believe what he was hearing. "Britman and his faithful ward? I don't think so." The idea of becoming a prisoner in this world really gnawed his goat.

"Well you _are_ a dick," Xander fired with the Batman & Robin reference.

Spike gave him dagger eyes and did the Captain Jelly-legs wobble again.

"Fine," Giles said, "I'll just let the men with laser guns know you're an enemy."

"Now, hold on. I didn't say I'd made my mind up yet."

"Believe me, Spike, I'm as thrilled at the prospect as you are." They'd lived together briefly before. It wasn't pretty.

The Vampire fell into a silent sulk.

"One other thing, Buffy," Giles continued, "If you do decide to stay out here fighting, I'm afraid you can't be on the same ship as Willow. For the same reason I mentioned before – it's simply too great a risk to have you both in one place."

Buffy, losing all ability to respond, stared blankly through the table.

"So," said Xander with a heavy heart, "this is the breaking of the Scoobyship."

They all went quiet.

* * *

Soon, the U.S.S. Phantom drifted casually into the Sol System, approached the planet Earth, and rolled into Spacedock.

Deanna Troi sent out an announcement to all personnel: A wake, or memorial tribute, would be held in remembrance of Worf at Spacedock's main park (a Japanese Garden, which was fitting as Klingons have much in common with the Samurai of feudal Japan). All Worf's friends and former workmates were invited to attend, and Worf's parents would apparently be there.

The corpse of Baragnos and his electrically charged accomplice were transferred to Starfleet's new Paranormal Research Department for study. Agent Hellström, still in recovery from his facial wounds, was transferred to the Spacedock medical bay, and the temporary Phantom crew were debriefed and released until their new assignments could be decided, as the Enterprise repairs were still a little way off completion.

* * *

Buffy had spent the last leg of the return trip watching vigil over Worf's body. She didn't know what else to do. It just felt right. When she first met him, well, after confusing him for a Demon and beating on him, she'd thought he was just some jock-type animal with as much depth as a saucer of off milk, and about as sour. But he'd become her second Watcher, her mentor, her guide. This world had torn her away from her home and family, and now it was about to tear her away from her friends. She was alone; knowing that Worf would have had guidance for her. He would have shown her a warrior's path, probably using some elaborate ancient Klingon tall-tale as a benchmark. But, instead, she had nothing.

When they'd arrived at Earth's space station, she accompanied Worf as he was neatly packed in a vacuum-sealed futuristic casket and moved to a storage facility on the station. It wasn't long before a Klingon ship arrived and a handful of warriors came to perform their death ritual. The casket was opened, as were Worf's eyes, and the Klingons had their howl. Buffy recognised Martok, the Chancellor.

Martok closed Worf's eyes and stepped away. As Buffy understood it, they were done with Worf. His body was a pointless sack of dead meat to them now.

Captain Picard arrived. He took one final look at his fallen friend and joined Martok.

"I… I wish to express my deepest apologies, Chancellor," Picard said with some difficulty. "Worf was a Klingon ambassador… and your friend. And he was under my care. I feel I am responsible–"

Martok interrupted; "Captain, may I ask a question?"

"…Yes, of course."

"Worf died in battle?" Picard nodded. "Then he died with honour. That is all that matters. I will see that your superiors understand this."

Two humans arrived next, and Picard spoke with them briefly before leaving. They were an old couple, both rather large. The woman was round with a bouffant of dark hair and the man was grey-haired with a long beard. They went to Worf and, as the woman broke down, the man held onto her tightly.

Buffy began to feel out of place. She went to stand beside Martok. "Will there be a funeral?" she asked. "I mean, do you guys do that?"

"There will be a ceremony on the Klingon Homeworld," he explained. "There we will drink blood wine and remember a great warrior. The body will remain here." He gave a nod to the mourning couple beside Worf's casket. "They will have their human rituals and store his remains as if they are still part of him."

She looked at the human couple again. "Who _are_ they?"

"Worf's adoptive parents are human," Martok explained to her. He noticed the sadness in her as she frowned.

"I didn't know that," she said.

Martok introduced her to a young Klingon male. "This is Alexander. Worf's son."

"His _son_?" She really hadn't known him that well.

Alexander gave her a very human shake of the hand. "The Chancellor told me great stories about you, Slayer," he said. "You were close to my father at the end."

"Not that close, apparently," she replied. The boy had his father's ridges and he looked about eighteen to her.

The human couple noticed Alexander at that moment and he went to his grandparents.

Buffy was left with Martok, who took a long look at her.

He had accepted the Slayer as an honorary Klingon, as Worf had wished, and he could see that, being stuck here in this reality, she was a warrior in need of a new home. "You must return with us to Qo'noS."

"What? The Klingon planet?"

"You were Worf's _be'Hom_**. **You battled alongside him when he fell. The ceremony requires your presence. You may honour his memory by recounting his final battle." He savoured the thought of their celebration of Worf's life. "Songs will be written that day so that all future generations of Klingons know the name _Worf_ and all he has done for his people."

That put a glow back into the Slayer's eyes.

Martok didn't tell her that there was no such requirement for her to attend. Nor that be'Hom was simply the Klingon for 'small female'.

* * *

A large cityscape occupied the very top of Spacedock's giant mushroom dome. Among the spiked spacescrapers were smaller domed units, one of which housed the Uchū Kūkan Space Garden – an expansive Japanese landscape of ponds, lawns, rice and tea fields, viewing mounds, rest houses, pine trees, shrubs and Iris plantations. Overhead was a glass dome where the stars could be seen, and hidden lights gave the park a warm glow. The local clock was almost at midnight and the garden was quiet, but for a handful of mourners; Deanna Troi, Will Riker, Captain Picard, Geordi La Forge, Doctor Crusher, Miles O'Brien, and Sergey & Helena Rozhenko.

They gathered on a small island of soft moss, rocks and trees on a crystal clear rock-bottomed koi pond. An arched bridge joined them to the mainland of the park. It reminded many of them of the day Tasha Yar had died.

"Thank you everyone for coming so late," Deanna said, struggling. "We…are here to remember…Worf–" She cracked and began to sob. "I'm sorry…"

Riker went to her and held her as she cried. It hurt him to see his beloved in pain.

Picard stepped forward. "We are here to remember a great man," he said. "An honourable man. An uncompromising man of great strength and integrity. A trusted colleague. Worf was a proud warrior, and he had much to be proud of. He was a father, a son, and a friend." Picard too struggled against the welling tears in his eyes. "If anyone would like to share their thoughts and feelings…and memories of Worf…?"

Data spoke up. "I wish to adapt a quote that I believe is appropriate at this time. It is based on something Ambassador Worf said to me eight years ago."

"Please do, Data," said the captain.

"'I am very happy for Worf. He has crossed over to that which is beyond. For a Klingon that is a joyful time. A friend has died in the line of duty and he has earned a place among the honoured dead. It is not a time to mourn.'" Data considered those words and added; "Though he will be missed, we must not be sad. We must honour his life. We must remember him."

Picard smiled and gave Data's shoulder a squeeze.

"I'll never forget his growl," Miles reminisced. "No matter how annoyed he tried to be, that grumble always came across more like reluctant laughter."

"I'll always remember his sense of humour," said Geordi. "It was hard to see – he was so stoic – but it was there."

"He played a good straight-man," added Riker. "His poker face was legendary."

Troi dried her eyes. "He could be so damn stubborn," she said with a teary laugh at the memory.

"Worf had a thick head alright," said Miles, "and it wasn't just the ridges." He paused, his smile fading. "He was a loyal friend. I'll miss him. The universe won't be the same without him."

The others sounded their agreement.

Mrs Rozhenko was almost overcome with emotion. She managed to put a few words together in her Anglo-Russian tone. "I would just like to say… Worf was such a lonely boy as a child. We worried about his happiness often, and we feared that he might never fit in with our society. You can't imagine what it means to us to see how loved he was."

Deanna released Riker and went to share a hug with Worf's mother.

The party stayed a while longer and shared their most memorable encounters with Worf, as the rest of the station cycled down into night mode.

* * *

It was almost 1am, Universal Earth Time, when Picard found himself looking out a viewing platform window at the Enterprise, half repaired, as she slept for the night. The expected date of completion was still 2-3 weeks away and he was eager to get back into his old command chair, though he feared that life, even on the Enterprise, would never be quite the same again.

"Captain."

He turned to see Temporal Agent Hellström standing there in his black blood-stained uniform, his blond hair unkempt and his face still partly covered by a regeneration patch. "I didn't expect to see you out so soon."

"I discharged myself. I needed to speak with you, Captain, right away."

"It can't wait until morning?"

"It _is_ morning."

Picard gave a humph. "A few hours then?"

"No," he said simply. "I don't think so." His face grew intense. "Something needs to be done about these Demons."

Picard's head tilted up at the man as he suddenly saw an opportunity he had not expected. "I see. Mr Hellström, I have a proposition I wish to present to your superiors. Perhaps you might lend your support?"

It was Hellström's turn to be intrigued. "What kind of proposition?"

* * *

The next morning, as the Klingon Bird of Prey was due to depart and Worf's parents were due to take him back to Russia, a group was preparing to be shuttled to San Francisco. Picard and Crusher were taking Giles to his new home. Willow, Xander and Anya were to stay in a temporary apartment nearby for the time being. Spike was to be held on the station under armed guard until the evening when Giles was settled in and the sun was set. Buffy was nowhere to be seen.

The remaining Scoobs had their bags packed, which didn't mean much as they hadn't accumulated much in the way of possessions since their arrival. Just a few items of replicated clothing. They were at the docking port about to board their transport; Willow looking back nervously, as a familiar figure finally appeared around the corridor.

"Buffy! We couldn't find you. You didn't pack?" Willow saw she was dressed in the Klingon costume again and her heart began to pound. She had a sinking feeling.

Buffy addressed her friends. "We need to talk…"

* * *

**O****nboard the Enterprise-F, 2418 AD:**

"You guys were forced to split up?" Korotkin seemed to be leaning toward his captain so much that he was practically laid out on the table.

"Not so much forced as… unconditionally advised," replied Captain Rosenberg. "It wasn't the last time we were all together, but it was the first time we had to go our separate ways. In a way it was like admitting defeat. We weren't going home," she recalled sadly. "Giles went to Earth and tried to help the PRD study their Demonoid specimens. Myself, Xander and Anya were assigned to assist the Phantom. The Enterprise was still in for repairs and Captain Picard and Doctor Crusher helped Giles settle into his new place. As it turned out, Picard had other plans in motion."

"What about the Slayer?" asked Crius, intrigued to know more about this female warrior of legend.

"Buffy… she went to Kronos with the Klingons to celebrate Worf's life. She told me that Worf had been the only part of this world that she understood. She needed to be with other warriors to find meaning in her life. That was the beginning of her new destiny. Mine was on the Phantom."

"How was it?" quizzed the young pilot. "Going from Enterprise to Phantom with a new crew and everything?"

"Strange. At first. But, I think the launch party set the tone for our Phantom days..."

* * *

(**Disclaimer:** Data's quote is from the Next Generation episode 'The Next Phase', and was probably written by Ronald D. Moore.)

**Coming Soon:**

BUFFY meets STAR TREK 2: Phantom Days.


	9. Phantom Days: Walk, Cook, Drink, Bust

_-__** Buffy Meets Star Trek 2**__-_

**_Phantom Days_**

- Walkabout, Cookout, Drink-off, Bust-up -

**09**

Willow stood 800 feet above the ground with her auburn hair dancing gently about her face and the sun shining brightly through her closed eyelids. She let the daylight and the breeze hug her softly and tingle against her skin. She felt peaceful, in a bubble of serenity. Then it came back – the exhilaration, and the anxiety. Willow turned and looked back. Xander's face was a pale white moon glaring back at her. She looked out again across the city of San Francisco where only a few of the towering high-rises stood taller than she did at that moment.

She was on the open-air deck of a huge circular platform that stood at the tip of a 300 metre-high narrow tower that reminded her of the CN Tower in Toronto.

Xander was looking across the deck, where people were laughing and gasping as they shuffled to the platform's edge as far as the energy field allowed. Over that edge, a shear drop to ground level and a breathtaking view of the bustling cityscape. He looked ill as he played with the zipper of his white jump suit.

Will wore the same suit with elbow and knee pads and, when the young guy in the Drop Zone uniform gave her the signal, she pulled her hair back and strapped on the hard hat.

She declined the offer of a hypo to counteract the effects of sudden shock, and the young worker – a tall beach boy type – raised his voice over the wind.

"You're protected the whole way down by a forcefield tunnel," he yelled through her helmet "Thirty feet from ground level a gravity flux field will slow you very quickly and bring you to a safe landing. The system has never failed, but for your own peace of mind, if you're still travelling at terminal velocity, the emergency system will beam you to safety at twenty feet, okay?"

She gave him a thumbs-up.

"Most people tend to flail about on their first drop," he added, and dropped her face visor. "I recommend either a diving or flat open position."

She nodded and he stepped back. Before her on the platform was a round hole in the deck, under which hovered a thin sheet of mist. Red lights around the rim of the hole turned green and the beach boy gave her head a tap.

Willow Rosenberg stepped out onto the mist as confidently as her legs would take her and the force field shimmered underfoot. She lay flat out on her stomach as instructed, with her nose against the glistening energy floor. She knew what was waiting for her on the other side but the mist was deceptive.

She tried to breathe slowly and tried to keep from getting up and running away.

The lights went red. Too late to back out now.

Beach boy began the five-second count down.

The mist generators beneath her stopped pumping and the thin cloud began to open up.

Just as the terrible reality became visible, the klaxon sounded and the floor went from under her.

Willow dropped out of the mist and stopped breathing as Frisco opened up 800 feet below her.

She seemed to float rather than fall in the beginning, and there was time enough for the view to amaze her. But once the initial awe was out of the way, it became clear just how fast she was falling. The landing bay area was reaching up for her at a frightful pace and her lungs went wild.

She screamed the last 500 feet down until, almost on impact, some magic force that wasn't her own pushed against her chest and limbs until she found herself lowering gently to the mat floor of the fenced landing bay.

High above, Xander was looking down the hole with the memory of her desperate scream still ringing through his ears.

"So," the beach boy dude said to him, "feel like giving it a go?"

"Aw, hell no," he replied, and looked at the woman with the shock-relief treatment. "But I'll take one of those."

On solid ground, an older man helped Will to her feet. "How are you feeling?" he asked her.

Her face was flushed and loose and her eyes teary. She began to laugh and couldn't stop.

The man laughed in return. "Welcome back to earth."

* * *

**Earlier that day:**

The morning sun burst through a wall of glass and wrapped its warm yellow glow around Willow Rosenberg. She looked out over San Francisco's Horseshoe Bay in wonder at the astonishing view. Five storeys below her were beautiful gardens of domed shrubs and ponds, beyond that a handful of 24th century towers and skyscrapers. Past those lay the bay cloaked in a low morning fog and out of the mist rose the deep orange towers of the Golden Gate Bridge – standing there like a slice of the past. She'd never been to San Francisco, but still it felt like she was home.

It was Earth. A few hundred years newer than the one she had last seen, but it was still their homeworld. And, for the very first time, they were free to explore the future.

Past the old bridge, San Francisco City was just a pale shadow in the distance. Over the horizon beyond the bay, the sun was rising above the fog and beaming through the glass of the apartment. She took a spoonful of real breakfast cereal and gazed out at the view.

She couldn't believe the place they were staying in. It was some kind of guest quarters for alien ambassadors on the grounds of Starfleet HQ near Fort Baker, and it was luxuriously high-tech.

She'd been the first to wake up and shuffle out of her luxury bedroom into the dark open-plan apartment. She'd called "Lights," and then realised that she wasn't in space. Tapping the switch on the wall computer, she'd watched as the giant windows that spanned the entire room, lounge and kitchen, faded from black to clear and the glow of the morning sun broke through.

She felt she was glowing too. There was something in the air here that just made her feel… positive. Optimistic. Like everything was going to be all right.

As Willow looked out in wonder at the golden Frisco morning, she couldn't help but feel guilty.

By God, she missed Tara. So much it could stop her breath. Yet, she didn't feel the sadness of loss, because she hadn't really lost her. Tara was alive and well and she had a Willow. She was just glad to know that Tara was happy and that there was a version of herself out there that could be with her.

What really nailed in the guilt was that this new future world had her so excited. Not long after their cross-dimensional flight had crash-landed here, she'd had a little voice at the back of her brain telling her that a life here could really challenge her and allow her skills to blossom. Picard's encouragement had given that voice volume and now it seemed to be the dominant one in her head. She was stuck in spaceville, never to leave, and she could actually accept it. The part of her that missed Tara, and home, even her folks, would just have to learn to live with it.

The door to the master bedroom swished open and Anya stumbled out scratching at her wild hair, wearing the same standard issue night gown as Willow.

"Morning!" beamed the young witch. "Check out the view here, it's amazing."

Anya gave the window a half-second glance and went to the kitchen. "Yep. Amazing." She switched on the replicator unit. "Give me coffee."

"What's up with you?"

"Morning glory," Anya grumbled.

"Um…that sounds like you should be more with the happy and less with the grumpy."

"_Morning glory_," she repeated. "Xander has it almost every morning and now we can't have sex because he says it's not appropriate with you in the next room."

"Oh," she said, realising she was referring to Xander's dawn horn. "_Oh_. Is that all you ever think about? Sex?"

"No."

"Sorry, I forgot. Money."

"And I won't be seeing any of _that_ anytime soon either."

Willow tried to bring some positivity back into the room, "Want some cereal?" she asked. "I forgot how great real food can taste."

Xander's sleepy voice came from the bedroom; "Did someone say the magic 'F' word?"

* * *

It was almost 11am by the time they'd finished breakfast and dressed. Willow was the only one actually wearing the comm badge they'd been issued. Partly, she knew it was a matter of pride – a status symbol. She wanted people to know she was with the Starfleet. More importantly, she knew they'd been issued for a reason and she couldn't help but follow the rules.

Xander was desperately attempting to manoeuvre the computer into saying rude words when a knock came at the door. A knock, not a chirp.

The trio shared a look of puzzlement.

"Must be our Phantom liaison," uttered Will. She was suddenly rather nervous. It hadn't really hit her until now, but there was a stranger on the other side of that door who would take them away into a new unknown, with new people. Xander and Anya had been through it before, but not Will. She wasn't prepared.

"How about a game of guess-the-species?" said Xander.

Will frowned at him.

"Our new crewmate's here, right? So, what'll they be? One of the wrinkle noses? A blue baldy? Maybe another bug-eyed Roswell alien?"

"It'll be a pointy Vulcan," decided Anya. "They're everywhere."

"Right," he agreed. "Here with his confused eyebrows and computer-speak, boring us with logic and matter-of-facts."

"Doesn't sound so bad," Anya replied. In fact, it sounded right up her street.

And then the someone knocked again.

"A-answer it," said Will, nervously lifting her hands to her mouth. Butterflies had joined the breakfast in her stomach.

Xander went to the door and held his fingers over the wall panel, looking back to see if the others were really ready. They didn't look so ready. He didn't feel so ready.

He hit the switch and the door panels whooshed apart to reveal… a short black-haired girl.

She was human, about Willow's height, mid twenties, with short black hair. She wore a black jacket with oversized collars and futuristic green cargo pants, topped off at the bottom with a heavy set of boots. Her eyes were blue and wide apart, decorated with black eye liner, and her nose was a cute button in the middle of her dainty face. Her short nails were also painted black. She obviously liked black.

A smile erupted on her face when she saw them. "Oh my God, wow, hi! I'm Kimberly – Kimberly Clegg." She was British, but not posh like Giles. "You guys are the Spooky Group, for real?"

"Well," started Willow, about to explain how they weren't called the Spooky Group at all, "we're the ones…" then she gave up and went with it. "Yeah…that's us."

"In the handsome flesh," said Xander, attracting a squint of disapproval from Anya.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, seriously." Kimberly gave them all a hardy shake of the hand. "You guys are from the past, ay? I mean _A_ past. I knocked on the door back there. That was my homage." She grinned again. "I love history and mythology, and I couldn't believe it when all this craziness started with demons and magic. It's taking a while for it to sink in down here, believe me." She looked around. "Wow… this place is great. I always wondered how the ambassadors lived. Big difference from the cadet barracks across the way. Anyway, you're probably ready to get out of here, ay?" They looked a little startled.

"Are-are we going to the Phantom already?" asked Will.

"Didn't anyone tell you?" said the new girl. "We ship out tomorrow morning, but Captain Rayner's organised a party tonight in the city. Food, drink – the whole shebang. But I thought, with this being your first time on our Earth, you'd wanna take a look around while there's time."

That brought some life back to their faces.

"Hope you have strong stomachs," said Kimberly.

"…Why?" asked Xander. "Where are you taking us?"

Clegg gave them a devilish smile. "Platform Eight-hundred. The Drop Zone."

* * *

They left the apartment block and Kimberly Clegg walked them onto a waiting minibus; a floating bus decorated with the Starfleet crest and banner of the United Federation of Planets. The young officer at the wheel had no wheel at all, just a throttle bar in one hand and a joystick in the other. He rolled the lever forward and took them off Starfleet grounds for the first time, and out around Fort Baker towards the bay.

Clegg turned around in her seat. "So… You're Xander Harris?"

"Xander Harris is me."

"And you guys are married?"

"What? No."

Anya turned on him with slits for eyes. "Well now, that wasn't at all hasty or revealing. It's like _that_ is it?"

Xander grimaced at his own tactlessness.

"Anya, right?" said Clegg, saving him. "You're the expert in Demonology?"

Anya quickly forgot about being offended. "I _do_ have a few years of experience in the field," she said proudly.

"And Willow Rosenberg," Kimberly said in awe. "You're a _witch_?" This she said with great reverence, not the usual fear or mockery.

"It's not on my résumé, but I _am_ pretty witchly with the magicks." Willow gave her a beaming smile.

Kimberly returned it. "I'm _really_ looking forward to working with you guys."

They passed by another set of grounds.

"There's Starfleet Academy," said their escort.

Willow gazed out with her face against the glass. "You went there?"

"Sure did. Four years. Good times."

"What's it like?" Will asked with wonder.

Clegg grinned. The witch was genuinely interested. "It's the best four years of your life. Makes you who you're gonna be for the rest of it. Oh, and at the other side of the bay there – you can't really see it from here – there's the Federation Council building."

"Council? Not another council," muttered Anya.

Will was confused. "I thought there was a President."

"He's in Paris."

"Vacation?" asked Xander.

"No," she laughed. "That's where his office is."

The taxi ride took them onto the old redwood highway and over the Golden Gate Bridge.

They looked out with amazement, and up at the narrowing art deco spires of orange linked by a web of huge suspension cables.

"Damn," sighed Xander. "I left my camera in another dimension."

Kimberly pulled a small device from her jacket.

"You have a cellphone?" said a surprised Anya.

"It's my X-Press Four Hundred – a personal media buddy. Not exactly Starfleet issue but it'll do almost anything. Including taking pictures." She had the driver pull over near the Presidio on the south side of the bridge and then roped him into taking a shot of them against the monument before heading on into the outskirts of the city.

* * *

Willow, Xander and Anya were standing at the base of a round glass stem that stretched for 800 feet into the sky. It was the transparent stem of a massive tower. They had to strain their necks back to see the disc at the very top, far above them.

Kimberly approached from the tower with a cool blond fellow in a -_Platform 800 Drop Zone-_ uniform.

"Hi, guys," he said to the three visitors. "Welcome to San Francisco. I hear it's your first time in town. If you'd care to follow me, I'll introduce you to the city in a way you'll never forget."

The three of them were led into the tower by the cheery employee while Kimberly stayed behind with her camera, joining a small crowd at the landing area. She couldn't wait for them to see their faces when they saw their pictures.

In the open glass elevator ride, the panoramic Frisco cityscape opened up to them as they rose towards the sky.

Xander began to suspect there was something wrong about Platform 800 when, all around them, people in crash helmets, some wailing and flapping wildly, fell past them at light-speed.

Looking up to the disc, now clearly an observation deck, they saw four misty openings on each side of them. 800 feet above the ground, people dropped like bricks through the holes and shot by them without any sign of cables, ropes, or chutes.

He wondered if -_Suicide Zone-_ wasn't a more appropriate title.

The view turned black as the ride came to a stop and opened up inside the 360-degree observation deck.

The Scooby trio was shocked by the stunning views of Fog City. They were even more shocked when they realised what the Drop Zone attraction was all about. And then, their guide offered to take them up to the open platform and toss them over the edge…

Anya watched Willow tear by from the safety of the windowed deck and prayed that Xander would back-out, which he thankfully did.

Will was still in hysterics when they re-boarded the bus and headed back to Starfleet HQ.

* * *

"End of the line, folks," said their driver as he pulled up to their apartment block.

As they disembarked, he pulled out a palm computer and stylus pen. "Say, do you think I could get your autographs?"

The Scoobs were a little bewildered by the request, but they humoured the officer.

"My Sister's gonna go crazy when I show her these," he told them.

Outside, Kimberly was waiting. "You better get used to that, guys. You're the new big thing in town."

Clegg told them she'd pick them up before 6pm for the launch party. She got her X-Press out and showed them her e-mail from their new Phantom chief. It simply read:

_Holme Park Community Centre, 1800hrs. Casual attire recommended. Bring an empty stomach._

_Cpt. Javen Rayner._

She told them there was plenty to see around Starfleet HQ, said goodbye, and pointed them in the direction of something called the Fleet Museum.

Once Willow managed to convince her co-Scoobs to go there, they walked around the outskirts of the gardens with the domed shrubs, expansive lawns and ponds until they found their way to a park on the grounds where a large unusual building stood. It was made up of many levels of glass encompassed in white angled beams like the bones of a whale skeleton. Shallow pools of sky blue water scattered with tall thin trees surrounded the other side of the museum and led to the main entrance.

The thought of a museum gave Xander chills. "I hope there aren't a lot of boards to read."

They took a path between the pools and entered the huge structure. In the foyer, a smartly dressed holographic woman materialised before them. "Welcome to the Fleet Museum. Do you require an interactive guide?"

Willow's face took on a geeky rigor mortis.

They were lead around the museum, where so much stuff was being explained by their hologram that Xander feared, with all of it passing right in one ear and out the other, that his brain might get dragged out with the tide.

On the third level, where numerous historical pieces were on display, a family with 3 young children was being shown around by a cartoon character, like something straight out of the Roger Rabbit movie.

"Whoa," Xander said when he saw it. "Maybe after this we can go to Toon Town?"

He found this section much more interesting. So far it had been a massive history of Starfleet and its founding, then the history of ship construction. Now there were some practical displays.

They learned about James T. Kirk as they wandered around the remains of his first bridge – from the original Enterprise NCC-1701. They were shown cabinets containing Kirk's old uniforms and other items from his home and office. It was here, as they entered a section devoted to the Enterprise-D, that they learned it was the lead ship of the fleet – the flagship of the entire Federation. Jean-Luc Picard's command chair, recovered from the wrecked Enterprise-D, was on show here. They realised how much the Enterprise crew had been through together in the last 12 years. It didn't go unnoticed that they'd managed to smash their last starship.

Finally, they came to the top floor where a shuttle service and beaming pads could transport them up to the Orbital Fleet Museum where they would see and board the real space ships of years gone by, including a Constitution-class like the original Enterprise. They easily agreed to keep their feet on the ground while they could. It was possible to view the ships inside and out through live camera feeds.

Soon they came to the last section of the museum.

"Welcome to Spacedock," said their enthusiastic tour guide as they came to a room that was a mock-up of a Spacedock observation deck with large computer screens showing live angles on the ships parked up there. The images were so clear they looked like the real windows. It was 24th century CCTV.

Xander and Anya went to the largest screen and saw the Enterprise and Rutherford being worked on by smaller craft. Xander wondered if the Rutherford crew was still around up there.

A little boy and his grandmother followed them in.

"Gramma, Gramma, look!" the boy came tearing across the hall. "Is that _Enterprise_?"

She caught up with him and looked over the hull markings. "That's the one."

The old lady spoke to Xander and Anya; "When he heard the flagship was in Spacedock he absolutely insisted on coming down here _again_. I don't know why my daughter doesn't just move back to Earth and be done with it." She smiled at them. "Do either of you happen to know when the Spacedock tour leaves?"

They said not.

The boy looked up at them with wide excited eyes. "Isn't it _cool_?"

"Oh, yeah," agreed Xander. "She's rockin' the coolness alright."

"Actually, we used to work there," said Anya.

"Well, we were more like ambassadors," he corrected.

The boy and his grandmother regarded them dubiously.

"It was only for a few days," Xander explained. "Just till we saved the universe."

They looked even less convinced at that.

Anya tried to win them back; "You know, the whole 'son of the Devil, demon-zombie army' Royal Rumble."

"Come along now, Timmy," said the old girl as she promptly led her grandson away.

They heard the boy say: "Gramma, who were they?"

She tried to whisper back: "Remember when you came here last year with school? Sometimes hospitals take patients on field trips too."

Anya huffed at the insult and gave Xander such a look of exasperation it actually made him feel guilty for it. She scanned around the room and saw Willow having a long drawn-out question-and-answer session with the fake guide.

She huffed again. "…I'm bored."

As cool as a space museum was, Xander's opinion of them hadn't changed.

They decided to go out to the gardens and asked Will to meet them when she was done.

* * *

A short time later, Willow found her friends back at the HQ gardens, laying out on the grass in the sun. She slid her feet out from her slip-ons and walked barefoot across the lawn, the grass a soft carpet under her soles. The perfectly green and feather-like strands of grass were too delicate to be called blades as they tickled between her toes. She spun with her arms stretched open to feel the sun's radiance on her palms and face.

She sat for a while quietly and watched the Starfleet personnel passing by before sprawling out with Anya and Xander to form a human star.

Xander was glad for the month of May. "Ya gotta love the beginning of summer. Not too cold, not too hot. Just right."

"Can you believe it's November back home now?" said Will. "I mean…it would've been for us."

Xander pondered. "I wonder what I'm doing right now. The other me."

A transport shuttlebus flew across the sky above them and he reflected; "We're never gonna see an aeroplane fly overhead again,"

After a beat, Anya said; "The moon looked different last night. All twinkly and bumpy."

"There're people living up there now," said Will. "It has cities and everything."

Xander gave it some consideration. "I know we've seen some kooky business lately but, now that we're back on solid earthly turf, it's just so weird to think there are people on the moon. Where are you off to today, Xander? Why, I'm just gonna visit my folks … on the _moon_." He let out a whistle. "Reminds me, …know what I _won't_ miss? …My parents. Back when I lived in their basement I used to wish for something like this to happen. Only, in my wish, it was my folks who got sucked into a vortex never to return."

It was strange, all right. Going from the people of Sunnydale to the people of Starfleet. And now they were about to change again.

It troubled Willow. "I never really stopped to think about it till now…but, from tomorrow we have to work with a whole new bunch of people. You've done it before. Should I be panicky?"

"Nah," replied Xander. "Working on the Rutherford, …it was pretty neat. Like Troi said to me once; every new job's a chance to learn something new and meet different people."

He sounded very positive. A little too positive.

"He's doing the denial thing," said Anya.

"No I'm not."

"See."

Xander fell into grumpy silence.

Anya began to shuffle uncomfortably in the grass.

"What are we doing?" she finally blurted out.

Xander angled his head back to look at her. "Huh?"

"Why are we letting them move us around like we're your little wizardy wargame characters?"

"_My_ wargame characters?" he chuckled with embarrassment. "Surely you mean the ones I'm… holding for… that guy from work…?"

Will giggled. "Busted."

Anya wasn't laughing. "It's temporary though? Right? They're not expecting us to stay on that Phantom spaceship forever are they?"

"It's just 'till these Spacefleets' know what they're doing," he assured her.

"Until _they_ know what they're doing? _We_ don't know what we're doing. We're meant to give them all our knowledge but I don't even know if there's any knowledge left in my brain."

"We'll do our best, hon. It always worked for us before."

"Sure," she scoffed, "when we had braniac Giles and a Slayer – before we became the sidekick spin-off."

Willow felt that comment leap across the lawn and stab her in a sore place. "Why does everyone think we're sidekicks? We're not sidekicks. We _are_ the team now."

Xander jumped in to stop the potential fight; "I need a haircut. Ya think there's anywhere around here an interdimensional tourist can get a complimentary cropping?"

The girls didn't answer, and things went quiet for a time.

It was Willow who broke the silence. "You think she's okay?"

Xander knew who she meant. "She's Buffy. She'll be okay."

"I wish we coulda given Giles a housewarming," she said with sadness in her voice. "I wonder where he is now…"

A few minutes passed on the sunny lawn when they decided to move on and explore the buildings around HQ. It wasn't long before they came across a small new-age shopping arcade, where they avoided eating so as not to spoil whatever was on the menu for that night, and wound up having a trim at the officer's barbershop. Xander's haircut was the most severe. He had the growing curtains and moppy look replaced by short back and sides. Now he looked more like he did the year before, thought Willow. Only a little beefier. She didn't tell him that.

They lazed another hour away in the sun until Anya decided she was returning to the apartment for a nap and taking Xander with her. Willow chose to stay in the daylight and breathe the fresh air so they could 'nap' in peace.

Alone on the grass, Willow had time to think.

She was afraid. Afraid that they were facing the end of the old gang. Things may never be the same again. It did scare her for sure, but it also opened up a new opportunity. Perhaps now she could put together her own astronautical supernatural crime-fighting team. A new band of heroes with Willow the Witch as the front man for a change.

That could be pretty awesome, she thought.

She sprawled herself out on the grass and smiled from ear to ear.

_Bring it on_.

* * *

By 5:40pm, they were back in their apartment, all dressed and prepped to go. Gone was Xander's Battlestar Galactica outfit, replaced by a simple brown sweater and black pants. And he'd even managed to run a comb through his hair. Anya looked pretty in a nice floral dress, and Willow had opted for her usual unusual mix – black vinyl pants, thin crimson sweater and a long brown and blue buttonless cardigan.

"I'm starved," Xander grumbled. "My stomach thinks my throat's been cut."

"We're gonna be leaving soon," said Will.

He rubbed his fingers together thoughtfully. "I could just replicate a burger…"

Anya stroked his arm. "Be patient." She turned to Kimberly Clegg, who was waiting on them in the den area. "What's with this party anyway?" asked Anya. "No one threw a party the last time we had to do this."

"I figure Captain Rayner wants to get everyone together so he can see who'll be working for him," Kimberly explained. "Y'know, this crew's been thrown together by Command at short notice and usually a captain gets the pick of his people. We've got a lot of guys working together for the first time on a stressful and dangerous mission. I already checked over some of the crew manifest and a lot of us are young and inexperienced. He probably just wants to get a feel for us and get us used to each other while we can still relax."

"So you don't know anyone there either?" said Will.

"Not really."

That made them feel a little better. They were all on the same ground.

"We haven't had chance to see Giles since we got here," Will said to Kimberly. "Is he staying around here?"

"I heard they gave him a house just out of the city," she answered. She jumped up from her chair and looked them over. "Okay…" It looked like they were finally dressed and sorted. "Ready for this?"

They whimpered back, and Will replied; "I guess."

"Great," she beamed. "Let's go to a party."

* * *

The Phantom launch party was being held in a suburban community centre in a small quiet park.

The Scoobs arrived inside the building and discovered a kind of barroom with a future plastic look, yet with a retro sixties feel. The surfaces were white; the walls seemed to glow with soft colours all around the room. Faint purples, yellows, blues and pinks, with barely a straight edge in sight. The outer wall undulated around the room in waves, forming secluded areas with bench seats and drinks tables. None of the tables had legs and the seating seemed to hang off the floor and away from the walls.

The tucked-away bench seats were of curved moulded purple with pink padding, lit from behind. On the end of each bench seat, beside the pink cushion, a torch of holographic flame danced like real fire. It was all a bit funky and avant-garde.

At the opposite side of the hall was the bar. A white area with a back-lit wavy counter with high tables and stools. The rear wall was glass panelling and a large glass door opened into a garden.

A busy crowd filled the open centre of the room, chatting and mingling away. People and things of all sizes, shapes and colours. There were more of the Andorians, like the Rutherford's doctor, a few Vulcans, some official looking Starfleet people, but mostly a casual assortment.

As they entered, Kimberly grew even more energised by the atmosphere of the room. "Need a drink?" she buzzed. "Should be beer around here somewhere." She left them and zipped across the room.

"Over-enthusiastic much?" Xander remarked. "If she's this hyper _before_ beer we're gonna need to tie her down to something."

Kimberly ran into a familiar face from the crew manifest on her way to the bar and she called the Scoobs across to meet a young Chinese girl. She was shorter than all of them and wore a traditional cheongsam– a tight-fitting short-sleeved mandarin dress of richly embroidered vibrant red silk.

"This's Mei-Li," said Kimberly. "She's on our team."

She gave a shy wave.

"_Our_ team?" repeated Anya.

"You don't know?" said Clegg. "Jeez, they really didn't tell you much. The Phantom's getting a Paranormal Research team. The head of PRD's coming with us and you guys are our advisors."

Once again the Slay-Team were surprised, this time by the formal nature of their new assignment. …They actually had _jobs_…

Xander realised he'd been demoted. On the Rutherford he'd been an ambassador!

They each introduced themselves to Mei-Li Hua, which was pronounced May-Lee Wa, and discovered that she was only 19 years old, almost straight out of the Academy. She'd been with Starfleet R&D for 3 months, since graduation, and then the Paranormal Research Department at HQ for the past 3 days.

Kimberly quickly dragged them all across to the bar, where Anya said; "I fail to see the point in serving alcohol that doesn't actually contain any alcohol. Why drink if you can't get drunk?"

Clegg assured them that the booze they were serving was the real deal. "None of that synthehol stuff."

A blue barman came over and Clegg threw out a handful of digits. "Beers for five, good sir."

The tankards arrived and they clashed glasses in a round of 'cheers' and leaned on the bar as a group, examining the hall before them.

Xander's stomach gave him another painful nudge. "Isn't there supposed to be food?"

Mei-Li answered in her quiet tone; "There are people outside trying to use a barbecue. I think they could use some assistance from someone who knows how to operate one."

"Don't look at me," said Xander. "It's already been established that I lack barbecoolness."

Mei-Li giggled at his Xanderness.

Kimberly pointed out a man who looked in his mid-thirties (which, in this future where life spans are longer, probably meant he was about 40 – Picard looked 60 but was in fact a whopping 71!). "That's our Chief Engineer. Carver."

He was average height with brown swept-back hair and the hint of facial hair on his top lip and chin.

She was about to point out some others when a thin man came in from the garden. He looked in his forties, short mousy blond hair, with a face that had a severity to it that was amplified by its skeletal thinness.

Xander thought he looked like something out of a nightmare.

"That's the Captain," said Clegg.

The man reached the centre of the room and clapped his hands for quiet. "Hey, hey. First I want to welcome everyone to this launch party; Phantom crew, friends and relatives. I'm Captain Javen Rayner–" A few friendly heckles came from the back. "Relax, I'm not going to bore you for long. Just wanted to let you know there'll be an old-fashioned barbecue in honour of our transdimensional advisors," he pointed to the Scoobs, "out back in five minutes."

"Half an hour," someone shouted from the garden.

"Five…or ten minutes," rephrased Rayner. "Seems that the old pals I invited to help out never used a barbecue either. The point is, food's coming. Enjoy the evening, get to know each other and, most importantly, go to bed early. Anyone late tomorrow's going on report. Thank you." He walked back through the crowd and into the garden.

"Was he joking?" asked Xander. Captain Freeman hadn't been like that.

"Didn't look like he was joking," noted Anya.

"He wasn't," said Kimberly.

"I've heard he's an iron captain," Mei-Li said softly.

"Yeah, I talked to an old Academy friend who served under him on the _USS Marriott_," Kimberly told them. "She said he's a tough boss; fiercely strict. They picked him for the Phantom because he's strong and decisive."

"His first officer's transferring from the Marriott too," added Mei.

Clegg nodded. "They're a balance, my friend says. Varik's a Vulcan, and his calmness and diplomacy level up against Rayner's hard fist. Action and logic."

"The fighter and the thinker," said Mei.

Suddenly Xander wasn't so sure about this whole mission. Working for a military ogre and a walking computer? _Goodbye Rutherford_, he thought to himself, _hello boot camp_.

Rather than mingle for the next ten minutes, the Scoobs found themselves being mingled _at_. Since their soon-to-be-captain had pointed them out, a mess of people from all walks of life had approached them. It was awe-inspiring to realise just how much they had become celebrities with their recent antics at Epsilon Ursae.

The worst of it were all the same questions being thrown at them – 'Is it true? About Demons and monsters? Are you all really superhuman? Can you do magic? Is it true you saved the universe from destruction?' etc etc. The hardest to answer was 'What's the past really like?'

Finally there came a break in the flow of admirers.

Willow looked around the crowd and wished for some familiar faces. If only Data or Troi or Geordi could have been with them. At least she had Xander.

"Okay," said a breathless Xander, "I'm officially overwhelmed. My whelm is well and truly under me."

Kimberly led them to one of the secluded floating bench seats where they enjoyed a rest in their new glowing surroundings. Xander was knelt beside the bench toying with the holographic flame when a shadow fell over them. Looking up, they saw what they could only describe as the impossible.

A giant of a man, maybe late twenties, and mixed-race in appearance. His skin was a light bronzed shade of brown, his hair closely cropped to his skull, and he wore a tight white vest and loose grey pants. But it was what lay under his clothing that surprised them. His body was enormous with muscle, and enormous in general. But he looked human.

Xander had to stand upright just to gauge the guy's height. _No way_, he thought, realising he had to be about seven and a half feet tall if he was an inch. The dude was about 2.3 metres from bottom to top. His biceps were at least as thick as Xander's thighs and every bump of his eight-pack showed through the vest.

_Must be the new doorman_, thought Xander. He couldn't stop what he said from slipping out his mouth; "I see steroids have been decriminalised."

The big man put a large paw on Xander's shoulders and gave him a gentle squeeze. Xander swallowed hard and waited for the other fist to hit him like a bowling ball.

Instead, the giant gave him a knowing smile and spoke, his voice deep and strong, yet with a softness that was friendly. "I heard you were funny," he said, before spotting Kimberly. "Hey. You I've seen before."

"We were both at the Academy," said Clegg. "You graduated my freshman year."

"Right," he nodded and put out a hand to her. "Laine."

"I know. You… stood out. Kimberly Clegg." She shook his huge hand with her tiny one. "Head of security, right?" Laine nodded back at her. "You know who's on your team yet?" she asked.

"Just that my number two's a Monchezken," he answered. "Schlatnak M'Raknayr."

Willow's eyes lit up. "Schlatnak's going with us? Cool."

Anya glared at the hunk of man that was Laine. _He's bigger than Olaf_, she noted in astonishment. She whispered to Willow; "How did he get so big?"

Kimberly introduced the Scooby Gang to Laine. She introduced Anya as a Demon specialist, Xander as an experienced Demon hunter and Willow as their expert in magic.

"Magic?" Laine repeated, unconvinced. "You're a magician?"

Willow wanted to be offended by that, but Laine was just…too big. "I'm a witch. I do witch magic." Then she whispered to Kimberly; "Most magicians don't even do magic."

From the big man's expression, he was clearly a supernatural sceptic.

The Scoobs were surprised again when a tiny little humanoid creature came over and stood beside Laine. It was even shorter than Mei-Li.

"Hello," he said to them mechanically, emphasising each syllable in a gruff tone. "I am Lieutenant Nog." He turned and angled his head up to meet eyes with Laine. They examined each other curiously.

"What _are_ you?" Anya blurted out, catching everyone's attention.

"I am Ferengi."

"Your ears are huge." The others looked at Anya with dismay.

"Thank you," replied Nog, rubbing them proudly. "I like to think I have good lobes."

"We've got the smallest and the biggest crew members right here," Kimberly declared with delight.

Nog gave Laine another examination, which strained his neck. "I should point out that Lieutenant Schlatnak is the tallest member of the crew by two and a half Earth centimetres."

"But who's stronger, little Ferengi?" Laine tightened up one of his bulging arms.

"Buffy could take you," stated Anya.

Xander gave her a swift nudge. "Don't upset the sasquatch."

Laine's eyes narrowed. "She's the one they call the Slayer?"

Kimberly latched onto the concept, "Yeah, imagine that. Superhuman Demon-killer versus the rippling man-mountain here. It'd be something to see"

"I'm not gonna fight a little girl," Laine argued.

"Why not?" asked Nog. "Are you afraid of losing?"

The big man fired an eyebrow down at him. "I'm afraid of no one in this universe." He turned to Anya. "Or yours."

"Where is this 'Slayer' of yours?" asked Nog.

"They split us up," replied Willow. "There's this whole thing about us all being together and going boom. It's safer for everyone if we're not in the same place too long." It made her sad to say the words.

"She went with the grizzly Kling-on people," added Anya.

"She's even dressing like them now," Xander sighed.

Laine made a mental note of that. This little girl was with the warrior race, and they allowed her to wear their armour? That deserved some respect. Maybe it was a good thing he couldn't wrestle with her. He kept quiet and looked unimpressed.

But Kimberly could hear something sad in their voices. Like maybe they felt they were losing their friend to a group of strange aliens.

Their attention was drawn to the back of the building.

Something was happening in the garden – a flurry of activity followed by the sound of people calling in to their friends and relatives.

"Looks like the food's being released," said a hungry Laine and headed out.

Xander couldn't hold back. Anya asked him to pick her something up and Mei-Li went along.

Nog joined Willow, Kimberly and Anya on the purply-pink bench and got properly introduced.

They watched the crowds piling out into the garden where a plume of smoke rose up from the barbecue and the stubbly bronzed head of Laine stood above all others.

"How can anyone get so…" Willow put her arms out to simulate bigness.

"I knew a troll once," said Anya. "His name was Olaf, and he wasn't even close to that big. Even when he was human he was big. But not _that_ big. Of course, he didn't become a troll until I–" she stopped herself and ran her hand through the harmless flame as casually as she could.

"Actually," Kimberly said, leaning in to Willow secretively, "there was a rumour around the Academy that he's a Chameloid."

Will looked back at her blankly.

"A shapeshifter," she explained quietly. "He can look anyway he wants. Or like anyone he wants."

"That explains it," said Anya.

"But Chameloids are almost as mythical as Santa Claus or the Loch Ness monster," Clegg went on. "Supposedly, James Kirk met one on…where was it?"

"Rura Penthe," finished Nog.

"Right."

"But I believe Commander Laine's file lists him as Hu-man," reported the Ferengi.

Kimberly shrugged. "Like I said, it's a rumour."

* * *

An hour later and the whole group were gathered outside enjoying fresh air, food and free booze.

An older Indian man sporting a manly moustache passed by them on his way to the BBQ. He gave them a polite nod as he went.

"Who's that guy?" asked Kimberly. She hadn't seen everyone's file and he looked like a senior officer type.

"I think he's our doctor," Mei-Li said.

"I heard we got two docs," said Laine, but he didn't really care too much about that. "What I wanna know is who's gonna be flying the bird."

"Another Enterprise transfer, I believe," Nog offered.

A few minutes later there looked to be some confusion growing around the barbecue. The smoke had died down and it seemed that the fire was out. Some were still hungering for nourishment and the group of amateur chefs were asking if anyone knew how to get it going again. Rayner headed over to help them out.

Meanwhile, Kimberly told the Scoobs how fascinated she'd become when she'd heard about the supernatural, but that she still wasn't sure if she quite believed it.

Willow saw the barbecue situation and, with a good helping of beer down her, thought it a good chance to show off a little. She raised a hand to light the cooker magically.

Xander saw what she was up to. "Whoa. Remember what happened last time?"

"Hey," she fired back, "That was Dracula, not me." She waved her hand. "Ignis incende."

The barbecue went up like a shot, sending a bunch of people diving for cover. The flame died down and the coals began to smoke again. Rayner quickly composed himself and turned suspiciously, catching Willow's eye. His expression was stern, but he went back to cooking and said nothing.

A few others whispered about it but didn't dare to approach them.

Clegg could hardly contain herself. "That was _wild_." She took Will's hands in hers and looked them over for any visible sign of… of what? Magic? She didn't notice Willow's cheeks glow red as she held her hands.

Anya moved closer to Laine. "So, you're a shapeshifter?"

They looked across at her suddenly as one group, utterly flabbergasted at her sheer unbridled gall.

"What?" Laine choked. "Not you guys too." He flexed his muscles. "These babies are all natural. Shapeshifter? Ha. Ask anyone here from Starfleet Command – I've had the blood tests. I'm no Dominion Founder." He was beginning to overheat.

"Sorry," Willow jumped in. "You'll have to excuse Anya. Her mouth generally bypasses her CPU."

Anya gave Xander a slap across the arm. "Defend me."

"What? She's right."

Will was beginning to wonder if they'd all had a bit too much to drink already.

"What's your name again?" Anya said to the big guy.

"Laine."

"That your first or last name?" she interrogated.

"It's just Laine."

"I see." Anya put a hand to her mouth and whispered loudly to the others, "He's a shapeshifter all right." She turned back to Laine. "Humans have at least two names. Like me – Anya Jenkins. I'm human," she boasted with a grin.

"I changed it legally."

"Really? And what was it before?"

Laine scowled down at her. Inwardly, her badgering impressed him. She was a strong-willed woman and he liked that.

"Willow Rosenberg?"

She turned to find an official-looking lady with a computer handset. "…Yes."

She held up her device. "I need your imprint for our records."

Willow looked around but no one offered any explanation. "Imprint?"

The lady asked her to plant her right thumb on the screen of the handset, and explained it would act as her signature for all future transactions and dealings. She took Xander and Anya's and explained; "You'll need to give your imprints to the Quartermaster General's office on collection of your uniforms before taking your transport to Spacedock in the morning."

The Scoobs were once more in the surprised zone.

"Uniforms?" said Xander. "We have uniforms?"

"Is it figure-hugging?" questioned Anya. "Can we choose the colour?"

The lady put up her hands. "That's not my department," and then she left.

Xander smiled. "Our own uniforms." He gave Willow a wink.

* * *

Javen Rayner left the re-ignited barbecue in the hands of his friends and moved back into the crowd, looking towards the red-headed girl. The idea of witchcraft didn't hold much water with him but, if she did have unnatural abilities, he wondered how capable he was of keeping them under control. She was, after all, a civilian. He liked that even less. On a mission like the Phantom's he didn't need unruly non-commissioned characters running loose on his ship.

Admiral Asquith approached him from the sidelines and took him to one side. The admiral was a grey-haired bearded man, and Rayner's former commanding officer. The old man had been his captain for many years.

"You read Picard's report on the Delta Vindi incident?" asked the admiral, talking of the Vulcan temple massacre.

"Of course."

The admiral wanted to say something but couldn't find the words. Rayner put a hand on his shoulder. "Don't worry, Captain. We'll round them up." He was speaking of the loose creatures they were calling 'Demons'.

"Needless to say, Javen, be careful out there. Be damn careful."

"I'm more concerned with these advisors you're giving us." Rayner looked over to them again. Just a bunch of kids. "Whatever they did at Epsilon Ursae seemed to work, but they didn't bring much to the table in their last mission. As for this Paranormal Research Department that's taking over my ship… how much control are you expecting me to hand over to them?"

"Well, that's a balance you're going to have to find yourself when you're out there, I'm afraid. You're the Captain, Javen. They're only with you to assist. Use them in whatever way works for you."

Rayner sighed and looked at the PRD team. What worked for him was not having them anywhere near his ship at all.

* * *

"Romulan ale is _still_ illegal," Kimberly uttered under her breath.

"And I know where we can get it," Laine whispered back.

It was just the pair of them and the Scoobs left in their purply benched alcove. It was after 10pm and most people had gone already, including Nog and Mei-Li. The young Ferengi was a stickler for following captain's orders and Mei-Li was a raw recruit on her first space assignment. They'd both left for bed. Laine was trying to drag them into a night on the tiles and Kimberly seemed game. The Scoobs, too, were so loosened by drink that there wasn't much argument in them. Fun was deserved. Fun was called for. Fun was about to meet the Phantom crew and get its jive on.

Laine led them out, giving the very serious impression they were on their way home.

The young Starfleet driver from earlier was still outside waiting to return the Scoobs to HQ.

Laine used his presence to convince the driver to drop them off near South of Market in the city and forget he'd seen them. The guy didn't like it at all but he did the deed and left them at the edge of the seediest side of town before scuttling away again in his hover bus.

* * *

Laine took them through dark streets lined with nightclubs until they reached The Traveller's Stronghold, a particularly dangerous-looking bar hidden away in a basement down a stereotypically steamy alley.

"You remember this place from your academy days?" Laine said to Clegg as they looked down the side street at the neon sign.

"Oh, yeah." She remembered more than a few occasions when she'd sneaked out to this and many other bars during her cadet years. "But they don't serve Romulan ale, big guy."

"You have to know who to ask," he revealed. Not to mention _how_ to ask.

Kimberly told Willow to hide her Starfleet communicator badge inside her clothing then led them in, but when the alien doorman saw them he held them back. They looked a little tame for a place like The Traveller's Stronghold, he thought. Until he saw Laine.

"There a problem with my friends here?" said the ripped officer.

Soon, the Scooby trio were led down a narrow staircase and faced with the dankest, scariest pit of a basement they'd ever encountered. Danker than Xander's old place and scarier than any vamp nest.

A group that could loosely be called a band was hammering out some bizarre pulsating drumbeat on hanging pipes as the Scooby Gang looked over the heaving room. There were aliens of all breeds everywhere in sight. Many of them were so severely alien they looked uncomfortably Demonish for their liking. Laine leaned in between Xander and Anya's shoulders and pointed a few aliens out to them.

The tall bony-faced gang of Alice Coopers were Nausicaans, a bald ratty-looking fellow was a Yridian, the fierce-featured hairy cat man was a Caitian, and there was a seriously Demony spike-faced blue giant that was a Bargonite. There were many others too – big hairy ones, melty-faced ones, blue and green ones, crested ones, bony ones, insect ones, a bunch of chubby orange Pakleds… so many. It was a menagerie of misfits.

Laine and Clegg loved the mix of culture and danger in this place. Laine was security, and Clegg was ex-security, so perhaps it was the combination of lawlessness and volatility that had something to do with it.

"This's the local spaceport for alien travellers who _don't_ have business with the Federation," shouted Clegg over the din. "Most of these guys are passing through. Watch your backs."

Xander couldn't get Mos Eisley out of his head as they followed Laine to the bar. Their massive companion had words with a couple of the bar staff and was soon handing out glasses of Romulan ale. The Scoobs were caught off-guard by the power of the blue liquid.

"Jeez," said Xander through a scrunched face. "That's some heavy juice."

Willow hadn't expected to mingle in such a rough dive but, thanks to Laine's presence and outgoing nature, they were soon hearing the tales and life stories of a whole mess of alien people. Traders, smugglers, and the generally criminal. Kimberly told them that half these 'baddies' were probably as straight as a Vulcan but had the look and the swagger to hang out in a place like this.

Three more ales later and Xander was halfway catatonic. He could only look on as Anya pawed drunkenly at his chest, mumbling incoherently about how great he was and how much she respected the python. He thought she was talking about _his_ python until she started rambling on about how she respected it for including rabbit in its diet. "Nasty, nasty bunnies," she shook her head and blew a raspberry.

Willow and Kimberly were pretty much holding each other up, and Will was even hit on by some kind of alien thing which Clegg soon shooed off.

"So, anyway," boomed Laine, continuing his story, "this old Ferengi latched onto my thigh and started gnawing on it like a chicken leg–"

Xander screamed out with laughter. His intoxicated muscles spasmed wildly and he smacked against something so hard he thought he'd broken his funny bone.

Laine immediately dragged him to one side and took his place as a big ugly Nausicaan spun to confront the bumbling fool that had knocked the drink he was holding all down his crotch.

"WHICH DEAD MAN…?" The Nausicaan was tall but when he saw Laine standing a foot taller than him he visibly withered. With a grumble, the Alice Cooper look-alike moved off to join his gang across the room.

"Ooooooh," teased Kimberly, jabbing a wandering finger into Laine's belly. "Nausicaan's gonna getchya."

He swallowed his fifth ale quickly. He wasn't one to run from a fight, but the last thing they needed was for Starfleet to get a report that a group fitting their description was anywhere near The Traveller's Stronghold, never mind getting into a barroom brawl. And, somehow, he didn't think their new captain would be impressed if the others arrived on the Phantom the next morning decorated with bruises and knife wounds. And any doctor they went to would have to report their treatment.

"Come on," he said to them. "It's almost one a.m. We better be…going…" He sighed regretfully as four Nausicaan's arrived in front of them. It was too late. "We _really_ don't need this."

Kimberly had stiffened up and Willow was beginning to realise, through a haze, that something serious was on the schedule.

Anya turned to Laine, recalling her remark about Buffy taking him. "You can take these guys. Right?"

"It's not that simple." Laine shook his head. He couldn't see any way out of this. "Damn it. Get behind me."

Anya did, pulling Xander awkwardly with her. "This should be good," he slurred.

Kimberly tried to take cover behind him but was held back by a steadfast Willow who refused to budge. She tried to explain about Nausicaans but the flame-haired girl waggled a warning finger at them.

"Make it easily on yourselves and walk away," blathered Willow. "We eat Nausians for breakfast."

Kimberly's jaw came unhinged. "Willow!"

The witch chuckled. "Who's first for the chop?" She pointed each of them out, "Alice Cooper? …Slash? …Gene Simmons?" she giggled again. "Or you?" she pointed to the fourth one and remembered the barbecue. She wafted her hand dramatically; "Ignis incende!"

The Nausicaan's hair went up in flame and he ran screaming for a glass of liquid.

"That one's Michael Jackson!" Willow's laugh was cut short as Alice Cooper lifted her by the neck and began to choke the life from her.

Laine moved in on Slash and knocked him out with one thunder-blow of his fist, and shoved Gene Simmons over a table onto the wet floor.

The moment Willow found herself up in the air with the alien hands round her neck, she went certifiable on his ass.

Drunk she might be, but she had more magic than alcohol in her blood.

She called on her telekinetic force, stronger now for she was on the very Earth that she drew her power of nature from, and she exploded the space between her own body and the Nausicaan's. They flew apart in opposite directions.

Alice Cooper was stunned but he pulled a knife and came at her. Laine moved to intercept but Willow held him back with her power. Alice Cooper came and Willow did the only thing any respecting drunk should do in a bar fight. She raised a chair into the air behind the alien and fired it toward the back of his head. Sadly, her drunken aim was off and the chair leg barely scraped him as it went by and crashed into the shelves of bottles behind the bar.

She cringed and tried again. The table that followed it was too big to miss its mark. Alice Cooper was down and out.

There were no more villains to defend against but Willow couldn't help herself. "Deslavo!" she called and threw a ball of blue energy into the ceiling, blowing out a light.

"Okay," Laine wrangled his inebriated companions up. "Time to go." He pushed them up the stairway just as Gene Simmons picked himself off the floor and came up behind him with a dagger. Laine could feel the sneaking Nausicaan trying to ambush him. He threw his arm back and over the arm of his attacker, raising it and almost snapping it at the elbow. The knife dropped and Laine put him out with one good punch.

* * *

The Phantom team staggered out into the street.

Kimberly held onto Willow and bounced around excitedly. "That was…so damn amazing! How did you _do_ that? You totally tackled a Nausicaan with magic!"

Xander fell against his woman. "I'm so full of the good ale I'm gonna be garglin' booze soon."

"I …want you …so bad right now," mumbled Anya as she slid to the ground and went to sleep.

Laine reappeared from the alley. "We're in big trouble."

Kimberly was beer-dizzy but she understood the problem. Not only would it be an easy task to identify Laine from his description, but Willow's cool little magic show had a way of fast becoming gossip.

"It's an easy fix," sputtered Will from her seat on the ground. "I can make them forget!" She was almost positive she'd heard of a Tabula Rasa memory spell. Then she remembered she had no idea what it actually required and that it was above her level of witchery. Then she realised she couldn't remember the memory spell and laughed.

"No," Laine insisted. "No more magic." He still didn't know what to make of what he'd seen her do in the bar, but he didn't want her making things any worse.

Xander tried to fire up his memory. He looked down to Will, "What about that door trick you pulled on Barabbas?"

"Barabbas?" puzzled the witch. What did the Biblical bandit have to do with anything? "Oh, Baragnos? Yeah, the contego material stretchy spell! I could make the door of the bar into a wall… it might crush the door though…"

"What?" said Laine. "No."

"It's _nothing_," insisted Will with a wave.

"No. No more. Anyway, they'd still be able to communicate with the outside world."

"Not if we knock out their transceiver!" suggested Kimberly, getting caught up in the mood for espionage.

"Their transceiver's _inside_ the building," he reminded her. "You've had too much to drink, Clegg."

"But, if we knock out the junction assembly for the whole block… We could take Willow's communicator apart, bypass the encryption circuit, and overload the sarium power cell to blow out the assembly coupling for the entire street…" She stopped…

How could she send such a subspace radio signal to the small transceiver unit in the comm badge?

"…I could use this–" she pulled out her X-Press 400 Media Buddy, "–to piggy-back onto the subspace frequency of the communicator and… bam." She looked to the big guy triumphantly.

For a moment he appeared impressed by her unorthodox quick thinking, then he returned a stern frown her way.

He was right, she realised. She was talking crazy. It would take the worst investigator less than ten minutes to discover a Starfleet officer had used a comm unit to destroy communications to a whole street, less than five minutes to realise magic had been used to make the bar's door a wall, and about a two-minute chat with the patrons to figure out it was them.

Laine looked back to the alley. No others had left the bar yet. He wondered what the chances were of this little incident going unnoticed until they'd shipped out later that morning. "C'mon," he signalled to Clegg. "Let's get these delinquents back to their crash pad."

Xander carried a comatose Anya, and Clegg supported Willow as Willow in turn supported her, and they walked the few hundred metres to the South Beach.

When Laine was satisfied they were out of harms way he stopped. "You should call them a cab," he said when Clegg got out her X-Press.

"Got a better idea," she replied. "I'm calling my ex."

"Whoa now," Xander cut in. He went on sympathetically; "Look, sure, you've had a lot to drink and you're probably on a downer about now, but, really, don't do this to yourself. Calling your ex is not the way to go."

"Drunk dialling…" Will shook her head. "Big mistake."

Kimberly smiled at them. "I'm getting us a _ride_."

* * *

Just a few minutes later, and a small hover car pulled up to the sidewalk next to Clegg and a moppy-haired young Englishman got out. He lived in Frisco and worked as a maintenance technician at Starfleet HQ and the Academy.

"Kimbers," he acknowledged with a humoured shake of his head.

She smiled back. "Got some out-of-towner townies could use a lift back to their digs."

He helped Xander lay Anya in the back of his car then let him and Willow climb in after her before rolling the rear door back down into place. He looked over the roof as Kimberly went to the passenger side door.

"I know you only came down here so you could meet _them_," she said, tipping her head at the interdimensional trio.

He let out a laugh. He figured she'd counted on that when she called him. "What kind of guy gets roped into picking his drunken ex up at one in the morning?"

"You know I know you work the late shift and don't sleep till dawn."

He smiled again. She knew him well enough.

They left Laine at the roadside. He told them he was staying close by anyway. Not that there was any room for him in the car.

Xander's eyes were trying to close on him when he noticed they were coming up to the Golden Gate Bridge again.

Anya was in his arms, touching his bottom lip with a playful finger. Her eyes were almost shut. "I love youuu," she droned sleepily.

"Ditto," he replied.

She stopped playing with his lip, held him, and drifted off again. "Don't be a ghost."

He had no idea what she was talking about, but he patted her on the back lovingly. "Okay," he agreed, then spoke to their driver; "What's this thing run on?" he asked.

"G-one-thousand series power cell," the guy replied. "Top of the range."

"What kinda speed can you get out of it?" asked Xander.

"Well, there's a limit–"

"Can it fly any higher?"

"It doesn't fly, though–"

"What if you drove off the bridge? Would it hover or kasplash?"

The guy turned to his ex-girlfriend. "These are the Heroes of the Demon Dimension?"

"Hey, they're still human," she retorted. "Plus, you should see what Willow can do – she's like a fire-tamer super-witch!" she rolled around in her seat to face Will. "You gotta teach me that stuff, it's outstanding."

Will was so drunk she could do nothing but stare into Kimberly Clegg's big blue eyes and smile.

By the time the Scoobs got back to their apartment it was gone 1:30am and there was no strength in them. They collapsed in their beds and slept. The rest of the morning brought trips to the bathroom, much hurling, and more sleeping.

Then, much to their distress, at 7am, it was time to go to work.

* * *

**Space, 2418 AD:**

"A bar fight?" Lt. Leonid Korotkin said in astonishment.

Captain Rosenberg smiled at the thought of her youthful shenanigans all those years ago. "That's probably about as out-of-control as I've ever been. I was young. I should probably have had more nights like that while I had the chance."

"I can't believe you were taken to such a place by Starfleet officers," said Lt. Crius.

"Well, they were young too," she explained, then realised what she had divulged. "I probably shouldn't have told you all that."

Young Korotkin held up his right hand. "We'll never tell a soul, Captain."

She knew he'd tell her anything just to hear more. "Thank you."

"And you had to report to the Phantom the same morning?" asked Crius.

"That's right." She thought back. "…But, by god, we felt every glass of Romulan ale that day…"

* * *

**Side Note:** I named the character of Kimberly Clegg long before I even knew there was a Liberal Democrat party leader (now deputy Prime Minister) called Nick Clegg. So, no relation there.

**Images** of the Phantom crew can be viewed within the story chapters at Twisting The Hellmouth, or on my Facebook page, Johnny Fanfic.


	10. Reporting For Duty

_-__** Buffy Meets Star Trek 2**__-_

**_Phantom Days_**

- Reporting For Duty -

**10**

**Monday the 3rd of May, 2376 AD. Stardate: 53943.1**

**0830 hours:**

Alexander Harris passed through the airlock and hit traffic. Uniformed officers were hauling bags, cases and equipment past each other in the narrow passageway of the small Starfleet spacecraft that was the_ U.S.S. Phantom_. He'd only ever seen the cramped ship with a skeleton crew and now the joint was heaving. It took him by surprise. He looked back to find his team, but only managed to locate Anya some distance behind before he was propelled into the stream of crewmembers heading for the front of the ship.

Xander found himself being cattled through the jammed corridors like a milk cow and had to stop to cradle his pounding skull. He didn't stay that way for long. Closing his eyes for even a second set the world spinning around him and turned his stomach in on itself. He held in a barf and threw his sack down against the wall to wait for the others. There were a few complaints but the masses soon cut a fresh path around him. He dropped his new Starfleet-issue uniform case to the carpet and spotted Anya working toward him. She looked as ill as he felt and he remembered how bad everyone had been on waking up early that morning...

* * *

Xander had opened the apartment door to find Lieutenant Kimberly Clegg leaning on the wall outside with her face in her hand.

She'd heard the door and composed herself quickly. A chunky case hung from her shoulder and she was already in uniform – the black bodysuit with grey shoulders. But something was new. Her turtle-necked undershirt was neither red, yellow nor blue, but was black. Xander wondered if, somehow, she'd chosen her own colour – her favourite colour. He didn't know any department with a black shirt. Then he remembered that Paranormal Research was a new department. But, still, it suited her, he thought. Black uniform, black hair, black nails.

She was obviously hung over, but her smile was as bright as ever. "Morning."

"You feel like hell too?" Willow had asked her.

Kimberly rolled her eyes. "I'll feel better after a hypo. What a night, ay?"

"I think I got a little giddy," said Will. "Did…I…set an alien on fire?"

That startled Xander. "You mean that really happened?"

"Oh, it happened." Kimberly bit her lip.

"Do you think he's all right?" asked the witch.

"I did some checking with the medical facilities a few minutes ago and no Nausicaans have been treated. I think you just frazzled his hair."

"Are we gonna get in trouble?" she asked.

Clegg failed to hide a guilty smile. "I think we got away with it."

"Well I had a good time," declared Anya. "There are gaps in my memory, and I feel like crap, and I have a gourd full of helium monkeys for a head. But the parts I remember were fun."

"It wasn't fun when you threw-up in the car," Xander pointed out.

She chewed her lip. "That must be one of the gaps."

Xander remarked to Clegg; "I bet it didn't go down with your ex as well as it came up."

She sighed. "I don't think he'll be giving me another lift anytime soon."

* * *

Willow struggled her way onto the Phantom with a sack over one shoulder, a new case over the other, and a potted plant in her hands. She hoped its delicate stems were safe in the path of barging shoulders. There was something exciting about the whole mood of the Phantom now, she thought. On their last trip it was empty and glum but now it seemed so vibrant and alive. It made her feel great. A little seasick, but great. The journey here had all but alleviated her fears of working with a new crew…

* * *

Kimberly had walked them through the Academy grounds to the spaceport.

Groups of people had turned their heads as the word spread down the line. Willow could just imagine what they were saying.

They were here – right among them – in the flesh! The Spooky Group!

All the years of secret slayage and now they were famous for it. They didn't just represent something heroic to these people; they represented a world of myth and magic.

Students were all over the campus and, all along their path, the crowds stopped and stared after them, whispering amongst themselves. Willow felt like a rock star.

A young man sprang up behind them, his awkward glances back suggesting he'd been egged-on by his friends. "Hey, could I take a picture with you guys? That is, if it's alright?"

Willow had been more than happy to oblige.

"We got fans," Xander said as the student skipped away.

"I feel like a short Jewish Elizabeth Montgomery," said Willow with a glow in her eyes.

"I always wanted to be famous," Anya revealed. "Do people always do that when you're famous? Come up to you in the street and bother you with signature and photograph requests? I think that could become annoying."

But Willow didn't think so. She was a famous witch. Once, back in her own world, she had almost been burned at the stake for it and now she was a hero. People actually looked up to her and wanted to be around her for what she was, no secrets. Kimberly certainly loved being in their company, and being seen with them. Will got a buzz from that too…

* * *

She shuffled through the Phantom with the plant in her face until a 'Hey, Will' turned her around and she found her two co-Scoobs huddled against the wall. She thought she could hear a girl shouting out room numbers somewhere down the hall.

"Where's Kimberly?" she asked them.

They shook their heads and looked back but there was no sign of her. It was very busy.

* * *

The spaceport had been busy. Lots of young recruits were leaving for their first assignments off-world, and many were transferring to new posts. A few were visitors heading back to wherever it was they came from. There were a number of Starfleet officers boarding with them on their transport, which was a boost for Xander. It wasn't just him that preferred to take a practical nuts-and-bolts approach to travel.

They'd had a pleasant surprise, though, when Giles had turned up to join them on the shuttlebus ride to Spacedock.

His tweed had finally been put to rest in favour of more up-to-date gentleman's attire. He looked futuristic, yet still dignified in a 24th centurybusiness suit. He'd travelled with them to the shuttlepod dock where they said their goodbyes, as the three of them prepared to move to their new home onboard the Phantom. Willow felt a pang of jealousy that Giles was already confidently travelling around without a chaperone.

"It's really quite easy to get around," he'd been saying. "They have anti-gravity trams that fly about like hovercraft." He'd snorted like an excited schoolboy for a brief second, then recovered himself. "Well… I've been getting settled in. They've appointed me a nice little place in Westwood Park, and Beverly…Doctor Crusher… has been helping me to acclimatise."

Willow and Xander shared a secret look. Old Ripper and 'Beverly' seemed to be getting along.

"And Captain Picard, of course," added Giles. "I'm having a meeting with him shortly, as a matter of fact. But, well… couldn't let you go without seeing you off."

"How're you and Spike getting on?" teased Xander. "Enjoying afternoon tea together? Eating crumpets and finishing each other's sentences – just like the good old days?"

Rupert's face soured. "Hardly likely. Honestly, it's like living with an anarchistic malcontent."

"Giles, it _is_ living with an anarchistic malcontent," Xander pointed out.

"…Yes," he agreed. "And trying to convince him to allow the Paranormal Research Department the chance to study him is proving difficult."

"Guys, the last transport's ready to leave," Kimberly informed them. "It was good to meet you, Mr Giles." She headed off to check them in.

"We better go, Giles," said Will. "If we're late we'll get in trouble. The new captain's strict."

"Strictly strict," Xander added. "In the strictest sense of the word strict."

He nodded regretfully. "Well… I suppose this is goodbye for now."

"Hopefully not for too long," Willow bemoaned.

Giles agreed. Will gave him a hug, Xander a dignified hand shake, and they wished each other well.

Then it was Anya's turn. She gave him a wave. He supposed that was worth a hug in anyone else's book.

"Aren't you going to tell us to take care?" she asked.

He smiled at her. "I expect you to regardless of what I say. But please do take care. We're still no better prepared for what awaits you out there. And now you have a crew that hasn't faced it before. Take care of yourselves, and take care of _them_."

"We'll show them how we roll." Xander assured him as they left.

Giles watched them depart. Within, he was somewhat glad to be keeping his feet safe on solid ground for a while.

Once their pod was away, unknown to his friends, a man in black approached Giles from the shadows of the orbital facility.

"Rupert Giles? Thank you for meeting with me. My name is Frederick Breznahan, Director of Temporal Investigations."

Giles looked the stranger in the eyes. The man was a little older than him and was grey-haired, calm and strong. He reminded Giles of Terence Stamp.

"You'll be pleased to know that Agent Hellström's request has been authorised. Picard awaits us, and I've just received word that the Vulcan representative has arrived. He'll meet us in the Admiral's office presently. We've asked you along as we'd appreciate your input in planning the forthcoming operation."

Ripper gave him a nod. "Of course."

* * *

Lieutenant Clegg found her three seasick advisors grouped against the Phantom's bulkhead and she rallied them to load up their luggage and pulled them through the crowd until they reached a female yeoman tasked with directing people to where they needed to be.

Kimberly gave their names and examined the yeoman's computer PADD. She turned to Will. "Guess what – looks like we're gunna be roomies."

Willow couldn't believe her luck.

Clegg showed Xander & Anya to their room, number 23, where she handed them a data chip of yesterday's photos. She apologised for them not being holo-images and told them they were on duty at eleven-hundred hours and to report to deck four, section two, the new PRD lab.

Xander looked once again at the unwelcome sight of the infamous bunk beds and the less-than-ambassadorial pint-sized accommodation.

Willow followed Clegg a short way down the hall to their room on the other side of the corridor. Room 18.

"I meant to ask," said Kimberly as they dropped their gear in their new quarters. "You have a plant. …Why?" She wasn't sure where it was gonna live.

Will peered from behind the big green leaves. "Oh, witches draw their strength from the earth – from nature. So… I figured it can't hurt to have a bit of earth and nature with me."

"'Kay then." Clegg approved. They could find a spot for it somewhere. "You top or bottom?"

She stammered back, "I'm…I…I like to think I'm versatile… Oh," she saw the bunks and blushed. "I mean… y'know…either is fine." Her roommate didn't seem to pick up on her little faux pas.

"Mind if I take the bottom?"

Will smiled and shook her head. She didn't mind at all.

* * *

Laine, in his yellow security uniform, a huge kit bag slung behind his shoulder, pushed his way through the tight corridors, giving his apologies to those who took head shots from his pack. It didn't help things having people doing finishing repairs to the ship along the way.

Something tiny passed beneath his bag and he spun to see the little Ferengi in his own yellow-shirt uniform. Nog looked back at him.

"I suppose this ship is spacious to you," teased Laine.

The Ferengi scowled. "You must be pretty jealous," he fired back, stretching his arms across the corridor before moving on.

Laine chuckled to himself and pushed through to the yeoman with the PADD.

It didn't take much for her to notice him. "Name?"

"Laine. Lieutenant Commander."

"You're assigned quarters are… room thirty-eight, section four."

That was the ass-end of the ship and they were now almost at the bow.

She looked back at the mass of bodies writhing through the tight passageway as far as the eye could see and then seemed to study his rather considerable size. "You might be better boarding from the aft walkway."

He thought about getting off the ship and making the walk. He didn't much like the idea. Certainly not while hung over. "Where's the nearest transporter room?"

* * *

The heavy metal door to the rear right of the bridge slid open and Captain Rayner stepped onto his new command deck.

It was the smallest bridge he'd ever seen. It had a darkness to it that was ominous and moody and the décor of the carpet and seats, like most areas of the Phantom, were in purple tones. His chair was on a raised platform in the centre of the room with controls on either side. Ahead was the solo pilot's station. To the left – Science/Comm, and Ops. To the right – PRD, and Engineering. His new pilot was already at her post; a young blonde Icelandic transfer from Enterprise named Lori Gunnlaugsdóttir. His Chief Engineer, also new, was at his bridge station getting it set up how he liked.

Commander Joshua Carver turned to head for main engineering when he saw the captain in the doorway. "Morning, sir."

Rayner gave him a sour nod of acknowledgement. "Status?"

"Almost everything's powered up and operating at full specs, Captain. Just minor issues."

"What kind of issues?"

"Um…The new internal forcefield generators are still unresponsive but we've isolated the problem. I've got a team on it now. There was some trouble with one of the brig doors, and a food replicator that wouldn't replicate. Little things like that."

"Little problems like that get a lot bigger when we need them to work," Rayner pointed out.

"Yes, sir," answered Carver. He tried to find a positive note to end on. "Oh, and the new tactical station is up and running."

Rayner glanced to the left where a new work terminal that matched the design of the helm had been set up behind the command chair. It was the only standing position on the bridge. With PRD in the old tactical position, and with his security chief's size making it difficult to fit in the small seats, it had been necessary to come up with a new station for tactical and defence.

When Rayner turned back to him with a blank expression, Carver smiled awkwardly and excused himself. "I should get back to engineering and see everything's ready for the launch."

"The turbolift sticks," complained the captain.

"I think they replaced it after the last one was destroyed," Carver explained.

"Couldn't they replace it with one that works?"

The engineer pondered. "It's probably just the new buffers on the safety clamps that need a little shaving off." But that was a hell of a dirty time-consuming job.

"See to it."

Carver sighed inwardly. "Yes, sir."

Captain Rayner spotted his Vulcan number two at the science station and called him onto his readyroom.

Carver watched them leave the bridge. "Okay, so, I heard he was crabby, but…"

* * *

Commander Varik was a tall 94-year-old Vulcan with the face of a man a third his age. His skin bore a dark complexion – his features reminiscent of Earth's Indian ancestry and his hair was longer, dark and wavy. Not the usual flat Vulcan peak. He also had what Xander would later refer to as 'designer stubble'. Varik, as a science officer, wore the blue shirt under his black and grey uniform.

Javen Rayner dropped into the chair behind his new desk and eyed his executive officer.

After a beat, Varik observed; "You wish to know why I failed to attend the gathering yesterday evening."

That wasn't the case, but now that he mentioned it; "Yeah, why didn't you grace us?"

"Waste of time," the Vulcan said bluntly. "Captain, I will become familiar with the crew as I work alongside them. Devoting an entire evening of my time in an attempt to form immediate associations in such a 'bonding' exercise would have been a misuse of energies."

"That's what I figured," nodded Rayner. His manor was much more relaxed with Varik than with other members of his crew. "You spent the night plucking the lint from your uniforms again didn't you?"

One of his angled brows went up.

Rayner moved on to the serious issue of why he asked to speak with him. He needed to gauge Varik's opinion of the situation he was in to get a clear picture of his first officer's headspace. "So, you've read the reports. …What do you think about this round-up operation?"

Varik took a very Vulcan moment to consider his response. "May I ask a question?" His friend gave him the floor and he continued; "Why did you insist upon my assignment to this vessel? Your mission is to capture supernatural beings. Beings that, logically, should not exist. I am a man of science, Captain. My presence on this mission would seem counterproductive."

He squinted at the Vulcan. "Are you pissed because you would've taken command of the Marriot?"

He didn't grace the joke with a response.

"Look, Varik, you're exactly what I need as a First Officer, just like always. Your scientific approach, your unbiased sense of reason. Because some of this crew – especially in the PRD – are going to be jumping all over everything we come across like it's the boogieman when most of what we encounter will likely be explainable using scientific methods. I need a man at my side I can trust. And I need the cold hard eye of a Vulcan."

Varik seemed satisfied with that. "Then, Captain, it is fortunate that I have two."

* * *

Doctor Pushpinder Singh, a man with high combed-back hair and a dignified and manly moustache gracing his upper lip, had been alone in sickbay for 2 hours by the time 9am came around. He'd gone about his usual start-up routine, setting all the parameters for the medical instruments and calibrating the tricorders. He'd just finished arranging all the medical staff's shift rotations on the system and was ready to send the assignments to his nursing teams. He stopped at that point and asked the computer for a hot strong coffee.

With a steaming mug in his hand, he surveyed his new workplace, pleased with how well his preperations had gone. It was thanks to Beverly Crusher of course; who had left things much tidier than most of his predecessors tended to.

Singh had spent most of the time organising his staff the way he believed was best – 2 shifts on 12-hour days each, so that more medics were on duty when emergencies happened. He found it the most sensible way to work, especially on the Phantom with a mission statement such as it had. That way, he could lead one shift while his co-Chief Medical Officer, Doctor Galeia, could take charge of the other. Technically, Galeia was the CMO and Singh just the assistant CMO, but it was just a technicality, no doubt to avoid the possibility of two doctors having a clash of egos and not being able to compromise or make collective decisions. Singh did wonder why the young Doctor Galeia had managed to get the top billing when Singh had been in medicine for almost 35 years and a CMO for most of them.

He began carefully tilting the hot drink toward his mouth when the door swished open, startling him. His coffee rolled up and burned his lip.

A young man of 32 years, his hair short and blond, his face handsome with the nose ridges of a Bajoran, marched into the room with an over-bearing air of confidence, clapped his hands and rubbed them together. "Okay, lets start setting these computers up."

Singh fingered his sore lip and weighed-up the young stallion. From the blue uniform and the pips on his collar, it seemed he was looking at Doctor Galeia Yanek.

Singh couldn't believe he was turning up half an hour before departure and expecting to do what he himself had spent 2 hours doing. _Start setting the computers up_, indeed.

"I already did that," Singh informed him politely. "It didn't take long, Dr Crusher ran a very organised facility."

"Well, we'll have to do it again, won't we," said Galeia, waving a data chip in Singh's face. "It's a new calibration matrix designed by Dr Harbacher – he's a medical systems genius. This little beauty's gonna increase program efficiency by two-and-a-half percent and free up at least a quad of memory."

Singh opened his mouth but Galeia had already moved off before he could respond.

The younger Doctor checked the screens Singh had been working on and saw his shift assignments. "Did you send these out already?"

"I was about to," answered the older man. "It seemed a little rude somehow not to at least let you look them over first."

"Good," he said, not letting Singh's subtle insinuation that he was above Galeia effect the strength of his response. "'Cos we'll be using the standard three-shift rotation."

"Oh…" Singh was taken aback. "I…find the two-shift pattern more efficient for emergency care. That way, when heavy casualties come through that door, and we can expect this for sure, we are more equipped–"

"Rotating teams of on-call staff works just fine in emergency situations," Galeia butted in, "and we won't have all those extra bodies milling about the place twiddling their thumbs, and-or similar opposable appendages."

Singh didn't look too happy. He looked like he was going to protest further.

Galeia took a firmer stand; "Look, it's a long time since you were a nurse, Singh. Your teams don't want long hours. They don't mind being on call. More importantly, we're not having a debate here. We're working three shifts."

Without apology, the young CMO quickly re-arranged Singh's arrangements and restructured the staff, much to Singh's disdain.

It was almost half past nine when Galeia got around to checking the crew's medical files. There were a few members of the crew he needed to have brought in as soon as possible, the Spooky Group being at the top of his list. Crusher had forwarded their updated files but he needed to get their full medical histories. He was intrigued to find that Lieutenant Commander Laine's file was locked. According to the attached notice, he had to see the captain about getting clearance.

Doctor Galeia Yanek sat back in his chair and wondered what that was all about.

* * *

"This's gonna be murder on my back," said Laine when he arrived at the bridge to see his new workstation. The tactical terminal behind the command chair was low. Very low. And he was not.

Nog spun his chair around at Ops, marched over to tactical, tapped a button in the top corner of the unit, and marched back.

Laine watched as his console rose up by almost 2 feet until it was at the perfect height for him. They'd really thought this one through. He leaned on the station and gave the grouchy Ferengi a wink.

The captain's readyroom opened up and Varik returned to his post on the bridge. Rayner appeared in the doorway.

Laine closed his eyes for a moment to find some of the courage he was renowned for, then he stepped over to his new commanding officer and asked to speak with him privately.

The giant man ducked his head under the doorframe into his captain's office and the door closed behind him.

Laine hadn't been sure if he would find the nerve to go through with it, knowing Rayner's reputation, until he had actually opened his mouth and let the words out.

Within a couple of minutes, however, the young officer had told his new captain everything that had happened at The Traveller's Stronghold in San Francisco's seedy South of Market district.

Told him that he'd taken their new advisors with him to the city, and told him about the confrontation with the Nausicaans. For a big strong man, he delivered his confession like a timid schoolboy in the principle's office.

"I expect we could have got away with it, sir," Laine admitted, "but… I didn't want to start on a new ship with a new captain by shirking my responsibility as an officer of Starfleet, or by hiding the truth."

Rayner pulled a PADD out, laid it on his desk, and slid it over to Laine. It was a formal complaint from a bar owner in San Francisco.

_Damn_. He already knew.

His own words rang in his ear: _I expect we could have got away with it…_

Laine forced himself to look his captain in the eye.

"You were wrong," said Rayner.

Laine was at a loss for words.

"This is your first time as chief of security."

"Yes, sir."

"You're not off to a great start, are you Lieutenant Commander?"

"No, sir."

"No." He retrieved the PADD and considered it briefly. "You're a commander now, and with that comes command responsibility. Leadership. Setting an example for those beneath you. All attributes you appear to be severely lacking. Quite frankly, if this had been the Marriot, you'd be packing your bags already."

Laine's face was burning up like a hot coal.

"And yet," Rayner decided, "I think I'm going to let this one slide – just this once – because you had the good sense to come to me with this before I had to send out a death squad." He could see the mix of worry and relief on his security chief's face. "It _does_ mean that you'll owe me a favour. And I _will_ call it in, believe it."

"Of course, sir. Thank you."

"Don't for a second think I'm soft."

"Absolutely not, Captain."

Rayner eased back in his chair and considered the man before him for a moment. "While you're here, Mr Laine, I've had the chance to look over your personnel file. All of it. Now that I'm fully aware of your situation I can see why you were posted here. I will assume the arrangement you had with your previous captain now applies to me."

"Yes, sir."

"Then, under no circumstance without my explicit instruction are you to use your ability while on duty. Preferably while off duty also. The fewer people aware of this, the greater our tactical advantage."

"Understood."

"Good. Dismissed."

Laine turned to go – to get himself the hell out of there as quickly as possible.

"Wait," said the captain, turning him around. "I want you to keep both eyes on PRD."

"Sir?"

"Make sure what they're doing down there doesn't jeopardise this ship."

He nodded and, after an awkward beat, Rayner waved him away and he ducked out the room.

* * *

When Javen Rayner re-entered the bridge, everyone was in place. Ensign Gunnlaugsdóttir had the helm, with Nog at Ops, Varik on science & communications, and Laine at the tactical platform.

"What's the time, Lieutenant Nog?"

"Zero nine-hundred thirty hours, Captain."

"Crew status?"

"Everyone is onboard, sir."

"Incoming message from Spacedock, Captain," Varik reported. "We are cleared to leave at our convenience. That is… at _your_ convenience, sir."

"Well, we'd better get going, hadn't we?" He stood behind the pilot and looked through the viewscreen to the busy observation windows of the space facility. "Get us clear of Spacedock, helm."

Lori fired up the thrusters and took them out through the huge hanger doors of the orbital garage. "We're clear, Captain."

"Ensign – set co-ordinates for Epsilon Ursae."

"Co-ordinates laid in, sir."

He gave thought to what they were about to do. He wasn't a man that tolerated embarrassment and failure well and they were headed for uncomfortably new territory. He also remembered he wasn't going on this insane mission by choice. He hadn't been offered the ship. He'd been handed the assignment. In fact, most of the crew were Command-appointed. Not the best condition to work under.

Lori turned to see if he was still there. He'd paused too long and he gave her an accusing look that turned her back to the controls.

"Warp eight." He sat in his chair. "Go."

* * *

Xander zipped up his new jumpsuit and looked at the mirror. He'd been dying to get a load of himself in the grey and black uniform with the funky new PRD black shirt. He remembered how cool it had been back on Epsilon Ursae-Six when Captain Freeman had let him wear the security uniform.

Fresh from the shower, Xander had opened his new case and lifted the outfit up into the light… and screwed his face. "What the…?"

The whole one-piece suit was grey with a zip from crotch to neck and a thick black stripe that ran across the chest and down both arms. The undershirt was the same as Clegg's but without rank pips.

Xander scowled at the mirror. "I look like a janitor."

Anya grumbled her agreement and he turned to see her tight slim hourglass figure being hugged lovingly by the same costume. He looked back at himself. Maybe it was him that didn't look good on the uniform.

* * *

"So much for getting our own uniforms," Anya said as she came through the doors of PRD with Will and Xander. "What are we supposed to be?"

Kimberly skipped over to them. "Oh, training uniforms. They've been modified."

_Training uniform?_ thought Xander. "Great. I'm wearing a Starfleet diaper."

Mei-Li was already there at a central computer column. She gave a shy smile and continued her work.

They were in a large room right in the basement of the ship in front of the shuttle deck. It looked fresh. Newly installed. The carpet was deep orange, which stood out from the purple tones in the rest of the ship. The walls and computer terminals were brownish grey, and seated workstations bordered the room on both sides with corridors going off left and right. In the centre of the room was a four-sided column of computer consoles and beyond this was an office at the back of the room. There were replicators and equipment lockers staggered along the walls. Xander figured the whole room must have been prefab and installed onto the ship in less than a day.

He caught a glimpse of an old lady through the office window, then the main doors whooshed apart and he thought he'd gone cross-eyed.

Two vibrant pink lady-creatures stepped into PRD in their Starfleet uniforms.

Xander blinked.

He was looking at a pair of petite girls with hairless smooth skin and bald heads. The sides of their scalps had a line of soft purple seaweedy nodules – like leafless stems of sea kelp, and fishy eel fin-like material grew out the back of their heads like a partial mohawk. They had an aquatic quality that was exotic and fascinating.

Their faces held sharp features. Large glistening metallic blue eyes, ridge-lines like a tyre track running up the nose and centre of the head back to their finny mohawks, and strange tubular ridge-lined ears. Their otherworldliness aside, they had lips as kissable as any he'd seen. They were odd but attractive, even with their tiny dangly turkey-wattle nodules hanging under their chins and their bright pink flesh.

Harris went slack in the mouth. "…Hi."

"Hello," they said together, in exact unison and with perfect harmony.

He eyeballed the pair. "So, wow, you're pink."

"What _are_ you?" said Anya.

Xander grimaced. "An, you can't just keep asking people what they are like that."

"Why? Is there a better way?"

Willow scanned them with her tricorder just to make sure they weren't Demons.

"All right, come along now," came an aged quiet voice from the back of the room.

An old woman bearing a gentle grandmotherly face walked across to them. Her pure white hair looked like it had been styled with rollers. The Starfleeters gathered around her and the Scoobs followed suit. She was one of the crinkle-nosed Bajoran folk, Anya noticed.

"All right then, so, for those who are new to PRD, my name is Commander Merran Araya, head of Starfleet's Paranormal Research Department. I'm not accustomed to operating onboard a starship, so please bear with me as I find my space legs." She smiled bashfully. Despite an outwardly timid demeanour, she still held an air of authority. It was something down either to her age or her experience. She continued; "From PRD I've brought with me the Taro Twins and Mei-Li here. To our virgin members; Lieutenant Kimberly Clegg and our advisors from the paranormal universe, which we're calling the Paraverse, …welcome. Now, just to be clear, I won't be looking over your shoulders or scrutinising your every move. All I ask is that you work hard, do your best and be responsible."

Xander saw the Fleeters stand straighter. All that was missing were the military salutes.

"The Phantom has been tasked with finding and apprehending any Demonoid life-forms that may have escaped into our galaxy," explained Commander Merran. "It will be _our_ job to facilitate this operation – to locate, identify, capture, detain and analyse as many of these creatures as we can lay our hands on. This will be important for two reasons – the safety of the civilian public, and to understand the variety of their species. We're bound for Epsilon Ursae Six – the last known location of the Demonoid beings, and the captain will surely ask where to start looking. It would be useful if we can offer some guidance in this regard."

She assigned the twins with that task, and Mei-Li with her original PRD job, starting with the study of data from Merran's own examination of Baragnos' corpse and the Electro Demon.

Clegg had been set on as her number two, so Commander Merran assumed she'd done her homework. She charged her with introducing their new advisors to PRD. "I'll trust you to familiarise them with the department and assign them duties."

"Certainly, ma'am."

"Now, I have to attend the senior staff briefing," said the commander, "and Captain Rayner may ask that I take the bridge PRD post for a good deal of the time. So, If I can't be found here, I'll likely be at the bridge station. You can contact me there directly."

She considered their eager young faces with more than a little envy. "I'm sure that, together, we can bring success to this mission, save many lives, and advance the knowledge of our societies and come to understand the paranormal elements we are today faced with. Let's do good work, kids." She set off for the top deck. "Take care of my department, Miss Clegg."

"Of course, ma'am," replied Kimberly with her usual cheeriness.

"Not a bad old bird," commented Xander when the old girl had gone. He looked to the odd assortment of characters around him, noticing he was the only male in a team of eight. He liked those figures. "So, this is the new Slay-Team?"

* * *

A set of double doors opened into a room full of glowing machinery. A control station in the centre separated what looked like a transporter from a large stage that shone with white light.

"I guess they heard about your shopping list for the big spell you used at Epsilon," said Kimberly, "because we've got our own cargo-size replicator platform …and a transporter pad for rapid response situations."

_Wow_, thought Willow. "They put these in just for us?"

"Pretty special, huh?" said Kimberly.

"Don't suppose they threw in a hologram room while they were at it?" asked Xander.

Clegg showed them to a single door at the end of the corridor. Inside was a gridded room – like a holodeck, but with hexagonal devices scattered all across the walls.

"Those are specialised sensors built by PRD for detecting spooky stuff that regular scans can't. It's like a… paranormal sensor suite."

Willow felt another _wow_ coming on. "How does it work?"

Kimberly smiled at her enthusiasm. "I'll get you a manual."

She took them back across the main room and down the second corridor. They came to a long hall with four prison cells on either side. "Demon brig. This's where we'll cage the monsters."

Willow studied the control panel at the entrance to the cells. "They're fitted with the… alternating frequency shields?"

Clegg nodded. "All the cells operate with an adaptive phase-modulated subspace isolation field, yes." It was the only known way to contain supernatural energy.

"I was just gonna ask about that," lied Xander.

"If it's any relief, we're just calling it a para-field."

"Phew," he replied with relief.

"I have a question," Anya said. "We've been wondering… What _did_ happen to all the Demons rounded up after our big space battle? So far they haven't told us much."

"They're being held in an underground detainment facility at PRD HQ.

Will, Xander and Anya shared a knowing look of doom. It was the Initiative all over again.

"It's just until, y'know, we figure out what to do with them," explained Kimberly. "We don't know how dangerous they are until we know _what_ they are."

"For public safety and study, right?" said a cynical Xander.

"Well," said Anya, "_there's_ an apocalypse waiting to happen."

Clegg frowned at them.

"It'll never work," Willow warned her. "It's been tried before."

The young Starfleet officer considered. "Let's hope it's different this time."

Back in the main room, Clegg showed them the eight stations around the outer walls of the room – four to each side of the main doors. Each was linked to a cell in the brig. Any creatures they captured could be studied and kept an eye on at all times.

Then she showed them the tall four-sided central column. Each side had a desk of buttons and a data screen with an overhead monitor angled down at them.

"This is where we'll be building up our X-Files and analysing data of supernatural importance," she informed them. "Any beasties we pick up go into a database that we can access on these hand units during away missions." From one of the control stations, she removed a device similar to a data PADD, but smaller and with a handgrip. "That way, if we encounter the same species again, we'll be prepared." Clegg looked the workstation up and down thoughtfully. "The database is a little… empty at the moment."

If only they could fill it with all the knowledge in Giles' and her own books from back home in the 'paraverse', considered Willow.

Mei-Li was still operating at one of the database stations.

"I suppose I should introduce you properly," realised Kimberly. "You've already met Ensign Hua," she said, pointing to Mei-Li.

"The Asian sensation?" said Xander. "Sure."

Mei smiled at that.

"They…are the Taro twins," Kimberly went on, pointing across to the pink sisters. "Their names are a little…difficult to remember."

Willow asked; "Where are they from?"

"Aquiinari. It's a water planet forty light-years from Earth."

"That sounds far," said Will.

"It's not so bad."

"So," Xander rubbed his hands together. "What are we meant to do here?"

"Well," replied Clegg. "…Advise, I guess."

* * *

Xander was soon facing a screen flanked by the twins. On the screen, he was told, was the Epsilon Ursae region of space. When he asked why that was important, they shook their heads as one. The twin on his right pointed a frog-toe finger, of which she had three, to a small ball of rock in the middle of the screen.

They both explained in their synchronised euphonious way; "_This_ is where the Klingon warship crashed and you overcame the commander of the Demon army."

He was stunned. How the hell did one know what the other was going to say, let alone say it at exactly the same time with exactly the same intonation? "Oh. That place."

They showed him where the Vulcan monastery had been and generated a radius showing the amount of ground the escaped Demons might have covered. It was a lot of ground, with very little actual ground to stand on.

"Any ideas?" they asked him.

It amazed him that they looked so alien yet sounded so human. "They like to lay low," he explained about Demons. Then he reconsidered. "But…they did hit a few of your space stations. 'Course, they were under the thrall of the Prince of Darkness Junior at the time. Couldn't hurt to check in with any outposts nearby."

They began scanning for outposts within the radius.

Xander eyeballed the girls. "You ladies are from a water planet, I hear," he said in his smooth voice. "That, like, a planet totally made of water?"

"No." they said in amusement.

"Seriously?" scoffed the one on his left, which surprised him.

"It's much like Earth," said the other.

"Only one-hundred percent surface water," they finished together.

"All the land is submerged under the Great Ocean," said the one to his right.

"Waterworld, huh? Kevin Costner could have used that place. Probably would've been cheaper to fly to another planet."

"It's beautiful," she mused dreamily.

He puzzled over how beautiful a big wet planet could be.

The one on his left, the one with attitude, could see his doubt.

The kinder one seemed to pick up on something on her sister's face. She turned to him and smiled. Her metallic eyes were glowing. "You have to see the rainbow kelp forests of the Great Southern Deep."

"And the floating cities of Suunomey," recalled the other.

They both tried to convey the image to him; "Glass cities half submerged in the waters, with their giant domes shining in the light of three distant suns."

That did sound pretty cool. "So, you can't actually live under water?"

"Of course we can," said the one on his left.

"There are bigger animals than us in our ocean," explained the other.

"We're not exactly top of the food chain back home," said the tough one.

"We didn't grow up in the cities, though," her sister pointed out.

"You guys must be pretty toned, then. With all the swimming." He got a shock when the kind one gave him a slap across his chest. He might have expected it from the other one. She apologised immediately, looking rather embarrassed.

"No problem," he assured her. "Sometimes I could do with a good slap from a wet fish."

The one on his left shook her head and went back to work. The other giggled and returned to the job.

Xander's gaze wandered over to the central database column where Anya worked with Mei-Li. But Anya wasn't paying attention to the work. She was giving him the sternest glare he'd ever encountered. He realised the central column wasn't that far away. Certainly close enough to hear his smooth voice.

The tough twin gave him a nudge and he spun back red-faced.

They regarded him quizzically. "Are you all right?" they asked.

"Your face is changing colour," said the gentle slapper twin.

"He's starting to look like us," said the other.

"He's all blushy," Anya cut in. "He's attracted to you."

"What?" Xander choked. "No I'm not. You're nice and everything…very neon… you'd fit right in in Vegas. But…as you can see," he whispered, "I've already got my hands full."

Mei-Li said something and Anya returned to the screens. She wouldn't have to worry about him using his smooth voice anymore at least.

"It was a carbon-based creature. That much we know that for sure. Though, every humanoid life form is basically carbon-based."

"Huh?" said Anya. "What are we looking at?"

Mei pointed to the top monitor. "Baragnos the Mutilator. His bio-readings, bloodwork, and autopsy report." She pointed to the lower screen. "And the energy pattern generated by the electrical entity."

That stuff meant very little to Anya.

"We need a scanning method more accurate than this," said Mei. "Something that can filter out species, and distinguish between a corpse and the animated dead. Also, a way of detecting Demon weaponry. We need more energy readings."

"We need more Demons," concluded Anya.

Mei brought up a new screen. "Maybe you can I.D some of the ones we already have in custody."

Anya looked over the many panels on the monitor. "Mug shots?" There were quite a few on display. She put a finger on one large bumpy specimen. "I might have made out with one of those at a party once."

"Can you remember the species or the particular genus?"

"It was a long time ago."

"It can't be more than a few years. You're sure you don't remember?"

"A few years? Yeah, try a few hundred." _Oops_. No one here knew she was a former Demon. "Um… because of the year two-thousand… being three-hundred and seventy-six years ago. It's time travel humour." _Move on…_ "What else you got?"

Another page loaded up and Anya's finger found another freakish man-beast. "Oh, those guys. They're old. They're supposed to be extinct, actually."

"What can you tell us about them? Anything useful?"

"I heard they liked feet. Collected them or something. The only ones safe back then were the fish. …And snakes. …And worms. …Snails. …Slugs. And I don't think they were ever house-trained."

"That's not very useful," said Mei.

"I'd like to see anyone else here do any better. …Ooh! Vampire!" It was a picture of Spike.

"Yes," said Mei with a subtle sigh of defeat. "We know."

* * *

A tricorder danced gracefully around the paranormal sensor suite.

Willow focused her mind and used her hand to guide the object.

She was having trouble coming up with new tricks. She'd done the fire conjuring, and blew out one of the sensor clusters with a deslavo blast. But she couldn't think of anything else. Man, she was out of practice. She needed her spell books. The subtle hangover headache didn't make it any easier.

"What about Betazoids?" Will asked. "They have psychic abilities, right?"

"They have a paracortex area of the brain," explained Kimberly. "It uses a chemical called psilosynine as a neurotransmitter to create their psionic ability." She examined the readings on her interface unit. "At least we can measure that. I'm thinking…a zero-point energy field." She changed some of the sensor settings.

"That's theoretical science."

"And you're a mythical witch."

Willow smiled.

"Geneticists on Darwin station created children with telekinetic ability," said Kimberly. "But you somehow acquired it through becoming one with the natural forces of the mother goddess of Wicca. It's like your abilities come from nowhere. You can generate enormous power, possibly from another dimension, from your Wiccan Goddess. _Or_…by harnessing and converting natural stored energy around you? There's gotta be some science behind it."

"Would you believe I've met the Goddess?" said Will.

"Don't doubt it. But maybe she's an entity that was once like us and evolved into something greater. Like Q."

"Who?"

"Long story. I hope you never have to find out. My point is, our technology is like magic to the less advanced."

"I know what you're saying. That magic might just be an advanced system of science, right? But… I'm pretty sure it's just… magic." She floated the tricorder back into her hand. "This one time, Buffy's ex – a good Vampire – totally lost his soul and turned evil and I got it back for him with a crystal ball and an ancient Romany spell. Just a glass ball and the right words – no science. …I would've saved the day, too, if Buffy hadn't already skewered him and sent him to Hell."

Kimberly looked up from her interface unit.

"And this other time, I closed a Hellmouth with an orapherical conversion spell that I created myself. Oh, and I channelled the spirits of Gods and made an evil spooky mastermind corporeal so Buffy could teach it pain."

"Didn't he turn into a fire-breathing dragon or something?" said Clegg.

"Yeah," Will remembered Xander's description. "That sounded nasty."

"And didn't Xander fry it with a phaser?"

"Oh…sure, he helped." She set the tricorder hovering again.

Kimberly set a new scan parameter. "Okay, basic science. Energy force carriers? Poins, photons, gravitons?" her readings came up blank. "Maybe a static force creating virtual particles?" Nothing. "Strong interaction? Gluons? Some…kind of…Quantum fluctuation? …Quantum tunnelling!"

"Like a subspace travelling wave?" said Will. "Are those even real?"

"Maybe. If so, it'd be a force measurable in newtons." She modified the scans again. "That's not it. …Could dipolar gravity have anything to do with it?" She didn't know much about that field. "Displacement waves that manipulate gravitons?" She detected no graviton movement. "You know…If your mind does operate on the zero-point energy field, then it could, in theory, create motion in another level of reality."

Willow flew the tricorder into her holster. "You haven't got a clue, have you?"

Clegg began to pout. She looked disappointed. "We're gonna have to rethink this whole thing."

"So what now?"

Kimberly bit her lip. "Levitate me."

"What?"

"C'mon, please. I've always dreamed of flying. Levitate me."

"We're in a spaceship," Will pointed out. "You could just…turn the gravity off, right?"

Kimberly looked at her in earnest. "I wanna _defy_ gravity."

Those big blue eyes and that sweet delicate face so full of cuteness. How could Willow hope to resist? "Hold onto your tush."

A naughty grin sprouted across Clegg's face. "It's in _your_ hands now," she said of her tush.


	11. The Haunted Sea

-** Buffy Meets Star Trek 2**-

**_Phantom Days_**

- The Haunted Sea -

**11**

' Willow Rosenberg's personal log, stardate…

Hey, Xander, what's the stardate? '

"What's the what now?"

' Well, anyway, personal log: Today….

The Scooby Gang, mark-two, on the USS Phantom.

We're almost back at the Epsilon Ursae system, site of the great Demon War of twenty-three seventy-six. I've stocked the PRD stores with a whole bunch of those protection pouches we used before. They're only good for preventing possession, or the mental influence of supernatural energies, but it's something. I've got my data pad to work with. It's a list of every spell I can remember (which, I can tell you, is a lot shorter than it should be). I never realised how much I relied on my library 'till it was gone.

I've started training the girls in PRD to connect with the Wiccan force. It's not easy, and way slow, but… I feel like a Jedi master. Actually, we're still at that meditative stage – getting in touch with nature as a force. Trying to feel it. Once we get through the basics, I've figured out a plan to focus each of them on their own specialised fields.

I'll focus the twins on attack – two witches combined are way more powerful than one. I'll try to teach Mei-Li the defensive magicks. And, hopefully, if she picks it up well, I can get Kimberly into the more complex spellcasting.

We've been working in the PRD lab on the bottom deck – basically down in the ship's basement. The crew are calling it 'The Dungeon'. It's funny, but all the PRD officers are female. Then there's Anya and me. It's led to us being dubbed '_The Witches' Coven_'. We don't really mind…'

"I mind."

' Okay, Xander minds.

So, soon we'll be back in the company of minions from the hell dimension, but what can we expect to find…? '

"Never thought I'd utter these words," interrupted Xander, "but I think I miss the zombies. Simple MO. Easy to dispatch. At least you knew where you stood with those."

' Yeah… We're apprehensive about what we'll find out there in the deep dark of space… Something we've seen before?… Another Baragnos? – Goddess forbid… Or a pack of _Hell-hounds_?…

Whatever it is, I know this: We've got a kick-ass crew, and we mean business.

This time…we're ready.

End log. '

"How was that?" asked Willow. They were in her room, Xander and Anya, in uniform and ready for the day.

"Very professional," Xander commented. "If a little…"

"A little _what_?"

"Pretentious," offered Anya.

Her face puffed up. "_Pretentious_?"

Anya quoted; "The Great Demon War of twenty-three seventy-six? The deep dark of space? …This time we're ready?"

The witch scowled. "Xander? You think my log's pretentious?"

He looked down from the rim of Willow's top bunk and saw both girls waiting expectantly for his response. He'd have to tread carefully with this one."Pretentious? No. Just…a little… extravagant maybe."

"That means pretentious, honey," Anya pointed out.

He went back to reading the 24th century equivalent of Barracuda on his padd. It didn't really bother him anymore that the girls were all green.

Willow swivelled back to her computer. "That's why personal logs should stay personal."

"Why bother with 'em anyway?" asked Xander. "Sounds a lot like telling yourself what you already know."

"Logs are important here, Xander" she contested. "They're more than just a record of events. It's your life in your own words – a living diary. And it's something for your children if you ever have any. Plus!... They're admissible as evidence. You should start keeping them." She looked at Anya. "If you think you can manage to be unpretentious, that is."

Anya rose to the challenge, and Will prepared an entry. "Go on."

' Anya Jenkins' log:

Woke up. Had breakfast. Going to work.

That's all for now. '

Willow scoffed. "That's not a log. That's just a…really sucky status update."

"There's my Anya," Xander proclaimed. "Short and to the point."

The door opened. It was Kimberly.

"Ready for the Dungeon, gang?" She saw the computer. "You started a log?"

Will shut it down and sagged. "I was _trying_." She gave Anya the beady eyes.

"Have you thought about sending yourselves a message?" Clegg suggested.

"Whatcha mean?" puzzled Xander from his lofty perch.

"A few years ago, back when I started at the academy, I made an entry for my future self," she explained. "I talked about my hopes and dreams – where I planned to be when I'm future-Clegg. I can't even remember what I said now, but I'll find out in…oh…fifty years or so."

It sounded like a neat idea to Will, but… "I hadn't really thought that far ahead."

Xander had. "I hope to have all the back issues of Orion Girls Monthly by then. And I dream of one day becoming _King _Xander of the planet of Amazonian warrior princesses."

That failed to surprise Anya. "I see _your_ plans haven't evolved much since Sunnydale. Whereas, _I_ plan to bring back capitalism … using Vulcan logic. And, if that fails, an army of Kling-ons."

Clegg was beginning to get the impression it had been a bad suggestion.

* * *

The U.S.S. Phantom ripped through the stars like a subspace bolt of lightening as it approached its destination somewhere between Risa, in the Epsilon Ceti system, and Regulus, in the Alpha Leonis system.

Two weeks prior, on a planet known as Epsilon Ursae-Six, on an isolated continent 40 miles from the nearest inhabited landmass, which was home to a tribe of pre-industrial humanoids native to that world, a massive catastrophe occurred. Unknown to those natives, a warship from another world smashed into the planet, spreading its debris across the surface for miles. From that wreckage poured forth an army of the dead and the beasts of hell. Demons and Zombies under the rule of a dark master born of the loins of Lucifer clashed against a force of Klingon warriors, Starfleet soldiers, the Slayer, and her team. The resulting carnage lay waste to the land and left that quiet isolated world littered with all manner of corpses and equipment.

Although a military success, in the eyes of the Federation and Starfleet Command it was also a great disaster. Interfering in any way with a society not yet reaching out into the stars was strictly forbidden.

So, for two weeks, a dedicated team of Starfleet personnel worked tirelessly to remove all evidence of the Demon War, scouring the surface with their scans and the finest-toothed combs in their arsenal. Nothing could be left behind. Not even a boot print, which could one day become a fossil that could cause great confusion and controversy to the future population of that world.

The starship leading this clean-up operation was the _U.S.S. Vanguard_, now locked in stationary orbit over that planetary globe, and the overseer in her command chair was Captain Rebecca Strauss. But she wasn't in her chair now.

During the whole two-week process, she'd been so tied up with the logistics of the operation – co-ordinating the numerous teams involved and maintaining the atmospheric dispersal satellites that provided them with a window through which to transport materials from the surface en mass – that sleep had become a rare luxury. Now close to the end, she'd stolen a couple of hours in which to rest and, by Jesus, she needed it.

Captain Strauss was curled up in her bed, off on a mission to the great land of nod. That moment when she'd laid down and closed her eyes… sleep had never felt so good.

Her last waking thought:

_Peace and quiet at last._

The screeching of the intercom broke her out of sleep so suddenly that her blurred brain could not co-ordinate with her muscles. She tried to hit the comm-switch by the bed, but her arm had become a wild heavy tentacle. It took three failed attempts in the dark, with the computer wailing at her, before she managed to get her vocal cords to function. She called for the lights, blinding herself momentarily.

The clock read 05:15.

Twenty-five minutes. She'd been asleep for less than twenty-five minutes. She pressed the comm and the link to the bridge was established. She didn't have to say anything. Within a moment, the voice of the tactical officer on night watch came through:

"Captain, we've got the Phantom on an approach vector. ETA fifteen minutes."

She managed to reply with a rough groan.

* * *

500km from Epsilon-6, a shift of officers was hard at work in the early hours. They were the lucky few assigned to the massive cargo-transport vessel _Olympia_.

Within, a six-man crew in thick coats and woollen hats came from a refrigerated section of the bay, a cloud of icy mist following them out of the huge open doorway. Some rubbed their cold hands together as others massaged aching muscles. They were the crewmen on the short end of the straw-draw for the night. Their assignment: morgue duty.

They walked slowly and lightly in the low gravity of the large open chamber, some bounded toward the central transport site like men walking on the moon.

All around them, patches of thick drying fluid spattered the deck; some of it was green, and some red. Some was black, and deep blue. And some bore the distinctive pinkish shade of Klingon blood.

For two weeks, the Olympia's cold storage area had been gradually filling with death. It was now a hall of corpses. The Demon dead.

In amongst the last batch of transported goods they'd found the partial remains of a Klingon and what had looked like a human arm.

The human stuff, or anything that looked like it wasn't hell-beast material, went in a separate freezer unit. Everything once able to walk, talk and think had to be recorded, categorised and saved. Identification was necessary to confirm those now among the ranks of the dead. And families needed something to bury.

The clean-up team wasn't ashamed to admit that they were glad to have missed out on this particular piece of action.

The team leader held a large cold-weather comm unit in his gloved hand, which he now had pressed against his hat-covered ear.

"Got it," he said to the planet-side officer on the other end (where it was, ironically, hot and humid). "Keep back," he told his crew. "We've got a big load coming up."

Most of them kicked off the deck and sailed back a few feet for clearance, drifting inches off the floor and skidding back onto their feet. The low gravity had been entertaining for the first couple of days, but now the moon-fun was over.

In the centre of their six-man circle, a swirling glittering storm of particles and energy shimmered briefly and subsided to reveal a rotting pile of…

The men walked around the hulking carcass, bending to examine, stepping in for a closer look.

The team leader gave it a shove with his thermal boot. "What in the name of–?"

It was a behemoth. A massive armour-plated beast.

"It looks like King Kong mated with a Klingon Krac'Nul. " said one man.

"King who?" said another.

"Never mind. It looks like a giant armoured gorilla."

One of the men captured the monster on a holo-camera for the PRD files.

It was laid out across the floor on its belly and its sprawled arms ended with hands as large as a man's torso. They found a bloody crack in its armoured skull that must have been the killer. What they didn't know was that it was Worf who had hammered a Klingon blade into its head. And now the smell of its decaying insides was reaching out of that skull crack in revenge.

Jerry, the fan of old black and white movies like King Kong, covered his face and moved back. "Hell, that reeks." He hoped they'd start sending debris up again soon.

Their team leader, Renault, knew what had to be done. "Let's get it in the freezer then."

This was where the gravity came into play.

Renault picked up the smelly head as four others took the limbs and, with very little effort considering the size and weight of the thing, they were able to raise it to waist-level.

Jerry was left with nothing to hold.

Two of his crewmates splayed the legs to give him entry.

"I'm not grabbing that." Nor did he wish to get too close to the giant rotting back-end of a fowl rotting… thing.

The men laughed.

"I guess we'll have to manage," said Renault as they hauled the creature away.

"I'll get the mop," said Jerry, going for the sonic cleaner to scrub the floor.

* * *

Above the cold storage level, the Olympia opened her outer bay doors for three of the Vanguard's shuttlecraft. With their hulls magnetised, they drew into the cargo bay with fragments of metal pinned to their skins and came to rest, dropping the salvaged materials to the deck. Another clean-up run complete. But the wasteland of space outside was still amassed with combat flotsam and junk. And not everything out there was magnetic. The final stage would come the following day when the Vanguard would use wide-beam phaser-fire to eviscerate all that remained.

For every man, woman, and alien officer involved, it had been by far the worst task they had ever undertaken in their careers with Starfleet. A task that would stay with them for all their years after.

* * *

Willow was having a strange old day. She'd left her room to start their early shift and found the guy across the hall waiting for her in his doorway.

"Excuse me, but could I loan you for a second?" he'd asked, moving aside to let her into his room. It had been a curious offer but he assured her it was nothing sinister. He needed her help.

"I have… an embarrassing problem that I generally avoid advertising." He'd said once inside. "I get, well, a little nervous travelling."

"On a starship?"

He opened his arms. "Embarrassing."

She told him she'd drop off a magicky necklace that protects travellers after her shift.

"Thank you. Thank you so much." He'd shaken her hand vigorously. "It's a real pleasure to serve with you."

"It is?"

"Well, Yeah. You guys are like real superheroes," he beamed. "Some think you brought this Demon mess here but the educated among us know _it_ brought _you_. And we're grateful for that."

"Really?" She was flattered.

"Yeah, cos, without you… we'd be drilled."

"Drilled?"

He looked a little uncertain. "Yeah?"

"You mean screwed?"

"Right."

Then she was stopped in passing by a female red shirt.

"Do you know if there's a way I can increase my fertility naturally? I heard your powers come from nature, so I thought I'd ask. Can you recommend anything to improve my chances of pregnancy?"

Willow blinked. "More sex?"

Not two minutes later and a security officer was asking her to bless him with luck.

She knew full-well from Professor Walsh's class, pre-Doctor Frankenstein period, that 99% of luck was psychological anyway. So, if he thought she could actually make him lucky with magic, then he would probably make it happen himself. So, she stuck out a finger and gave him a light tap on the head. "There. You're done. Don't spend it all at once."

Now she glided through the corridors, strutting with her head high, a fairy drifting along on rays of sunshine. There were no seasons in space, no sense of the time of year or day. But Willow Rosenberg walked through the halls of the Phantom feeling like summer. Everything just seemed to be…falling into place. She wasn't even halfway to the lift when she was stopped again.

It was a tall slim guy in blue. He looked the science type and his skin was pale, his face tired-looking. He had a sadness about him, but he smiled when he saw her. He said something she wouldn't soon forget.

"My fiancée died in the battle of Epsilon Ursae-Six. Because of you her sacrifice meant something. Thank you."

* * *

The U.S.S. Phantom slowed to impulse speed and circled around the brown ball of Epsilon Ursae-4, following the path taken a fortnight before by the Enterprise and Rutherford, until they came upon the sixth planet – a world amid a field of debris. Pieces of ships, shuttles, and fighters – the ruins of war – hanging over the planet like a cloud of sparkling space dust. It looked almost beautiful as it glistened on the main viewscreen. But it was just ash. The ashes of death and destruction.

Captain Rayner got up from his command chair at the sight of it. He'd read the reports, but they failed to convey the weight of it all. Standing on the ground where the fight took place was another thing altogether.

"We are being hailed by the Vanguard," announced Commander Varik.

"Put it up."

"They are patching through to the captain's quarters."

That was unusual. The screen changed and revealed a middle-aged woman with short brown hair pushed back behind her ears and soft round features. She was dressed in a night gown.

"Welcome to Epsilon, Phantom," said Rebecca Strauss in a tired husky voice.

"Did we wake you, Captain?"

"Only partially." Her tone was blank.

She was either being sarcastic or making a joke. Rayner couldn't tell.

"It's my understanding you're on the hunt for those creatures," she said. "I already know what you're going to ask. There are so many engine trails out here it's like spaghetti, and I'm afraid we haven't had the resources to track any of them."

"Have you managed to find anything among the wreckage that might serve as a clue?" Rayner asked.

"Well, let me see," she massaged a hand against her temples as she tried to concentrate her groggy mind on the question. "There were eighteen Klingon fighters involved in the conflict, Captain. Only one survived intact, and we've found wreckage for a further fifteen. Two remain unaccounted for, if that's of any help."

"It's a starting point," he granted. "We'll let you get back to your rest."

She gave a slow nod that looked a lot like relief. Then, as an afterthought, said: "I wonder… would you have any duel-function particle filters I could requisition? We've got a ring of satellites hoovering out a clean hole in the atmosphere but the plasma gases keep wearing out the core nodes. We're replacing them almost every hour."

Rayner deferred the request over to Carver at the engineering station.

"Sure," he replied. "I'll send over whatever we can spare."

"It's appreciated. And Good luck, Captain. We've had ships and shuttles in and out here for days. There'll be engine trails all over the system."

He acknowledged. "Thank you," he said, giving Varik the signal to terminate, and the planet reappeared on the screen. The long rectangular form of the Olympia hung before them. The Vanguard was probably on the far side of the globe.

Rayner returned to his seat and started pushing buttons on the computer panels beside him. "Let's get to work on finding a lead, people."

* * *

Almost two hours later and things were starting to get spooky on the Phantom. To the captain's annoyance, Commander Merran had begun throwing her PRD authority at him, which was threateningly looking to match the authority reserved only for a ship's doctor. Against his own judgement, she had insisted on following the Rosenberg girl's advice and now every member of his crew was walking the ship wearing a strange-smelling herbal pouch around their necks.

For protection, she'd said.

Magic.

He hadn't really had good cause to disallow it. As for himself, he tucked his under his uniform out of sight. At least Merran was out from under his feet for the time being. He'd also granted her request to download the image files gathered by the Vanguard's teams and she'd gone off on her broomstick to look at all the new monsters.

So far they'd had no luck finding a decent trail and were circling around the Olympia like a confused vulture. Before leaving, Merran had offered Xander's advice:

"If all else fails, Captain, one of our outposts may have picked something up by now."

It was beginning to sound like their only option at this point.

Rayner was circling the bridge as aimlessly as his circling ship when he saw Varik and Nog getting excited over the screen in front of them.

"You have something?"

"A possible lead, Captain," the small Ferengi reported. "A miscellaneous impulse trail. It's not one of ours."

"Can you get a clear reading on it?"

"I am attempting to isolate the plasma signature," said Varik. "Analysing now."

"Klingon?" The captain sounded impatient.

Varik checked over the results. "It does appear consistent with Klingon engine emissions. Eighty-three percent probable match to a Negh'Var-class assault shuttle."

"This's the only viable lead you've been able to identify?"

"Yes, sir," answered Nog.

That was all Rayner needed to hear. "Helm – set a heading…" He looked to the Ferengi.

A quick glance at ops, and Nog finished: "Three-four-three, mark three-one-nine."

Lori input the course as Rayner took his chair.

_Finally_, he thought. "Warp five. And track that trail. Keep us on target."

* * *

The Phantom, small, rotund, and fierce, angled itself away from the clean-up operation, as it caught the faint scent of its prey on the breeze, and darted away like a hungry falcon.

* * *

They'd been cruising at warp for many hours in pursuit of their missing Klingon fighter, and the captain, who hadn't bothered giving his chair up for the night shift, was nodding off when the Phantom lurched suddenly. His eyes snapped open and he looked around the bridge.

The small viewscreen showed a field of warped stars ahead. Most of his primary crew had stayed on duty with their captain, and their expressions told him he hadn't dreamt things. His first thought was to thank the heavens. Better to not suffer the embarrassment of performing a public sleep-spasm. His second thought: why did it feel like they'd run over something in space?

Then it happened again.

The ship bounced and Commander Carver let out a loud"Whoa," at the sight of his monitors. "The engines didn't like that."

"Report!"

"Sensors are…" Varik frowned, more surprised than confused. "I am uncertain, Captain."

Another jolt and Rayner's chair almost came out from under him.

Carver spoke up; "Okay… I'm getting some strange readings from the warp nacelles now."

Things grew bumpier as the ship began to rattle around them.

The captain didn't dare get up for fear of hitting the deck. He held onto his seat firmly. "Reinforce integrity field and stabilise the dampers," he directed at Nog. "Care to elaborate, Mr Carver?"

"Not sure that I can, Captain. The warp field coils are … they're burning up. The nacelles are shaking apart from the inside. We're not gonna be able to maintain a warp field like this."

The whole bridge was now bucking like a mad bronco in a rodeo show. The bulkheads twisted and the interior fittings rubbed against each other, squeaking loudly.

Varik struggled to make sense of his own screens. "We seem to be caught on the edge of some kind of energy field."

The captain tried to pull himself up to see the readings with his own eyes.

Nog's workstation was running its own analysis. "It looks like a cloud–"

There came a shuddering rattle followed by a loud creak from the framework somewhere behind them.

Then, bump!

Rayner was tossed back into his chair.

* * *

The U.S.S. Phantom dropped out of warp and crawled to a stop.

* * *

The ship settled down and fell quiet again as they drew to a standstill. The lights were flickering and some of the computers blinked to the same rhythm.

Rayner picked himself up. "Varik, what is it?"

"Some kind of …storm front… moving in on our position," the Vulcan replied uncertainly.

"A storm front? In space?" Captain Rayner couldn't recall a time when Varik had responded so vaguely. "On viewer."

Nog transferred the image to the screen and they saw as the cloud he'd mentioned rolled in like an ocean mist.

For a moment, Rayner could imagine himself the captain of the Mary Celeste; caught on the high seas, a mystical bank of fog creeping over the boat, blocking out the stars and the sail. A fog that would pass, leaving an empty ship of ghosts.

He shook the image away. "What the hell is that? And why did we fly into it?"

"It wasn't detected by our sensors until now, sir," replied the night pilot. "The navigational array was only picking up the usual ionic and atomic matter, and electromagnetic radiation."

_Not on the weather forecast, eh?_ "And what exactly are the sensors saying now? Is it any threat?"

"There is no indication to suggest so," replied Varik as his screens flashed. "Though, it does appear to be more compact than the usual interstellar medium. Sensor are limited."

Rayner was beginning to tire of all the ambiguity. "What are we looking at? Nebula remnant? Comet fragments?"

Nog was having a little more luck at ops. "It reads only as a low-level EM wave front. Wait… I may be detecting some nonionic patterns. That could explain the cloud, sir."

The captain looked to the screen with more consideration. "The radiation's lighting it up." It was almost like matter igniting against antimatter, but infinitely less volatile. In theory. "What do we lose if we plot around it?"

"At least an hour," replied helm.

That was too much. In a hunt, an hour could mean the difference between catching their prey and losing its trail.

Rayner had to get them out quickly and get back underway. "Warp engines?"

Carver turned at engineering. "Wouldn't recommend it, Captain."

"Impulse?"

"I'd take it easy. Something out there isn't mixing well with the EPS and I'm having trouble stabilising the plasma flow."

Rayner returned to his seat. "Let's try half impulse – raise shields and take us through."

After a moment, the chief engineer added; "The shields are out, and some of the sensor arrays have seized up. Actually…a lot of our systems don't seem to be working properly. The ship's experiencing some kind of power disruption…and I can't identify the cause of the interference."

In the back of his mind, Javen Rayner slammed his fists against his armrests. "Try to maximise the inertial dampers."

Carver did his thing and the pilot did his thing, and a minute later the ship eased forward slowly.

"Structural integrity holding," said the engineer.

"Radiation levels within safety limits," Varik added.

It seemed they were making headway until the back end of the ship began to rattle and thump.

"Impulse engines failing," called the helmsman.

"Having trouble holding integrity," Carver warned. "Dampers at their limits. They could go any second."

Rayner considered smashing his chair with his fists again. It wasn't working. "Helm – switch to thrusters. Back us out of the cloud."

The impulse engines went silent and the pilot set the Phantom on a gentle reverse course.

What happened next surprised everyone.

First a rumble. Then everything shook. They bounced one last time violently. Then a great boom and a heavy deep clang from the back of the ship that sounded far from good. And then it all went dark.

The lights were out on the bridge. The viewer was blank, and only some consoles were working, providing their only illumination.

Rayner had managed to stay on his perch. "What happened?"

"We've just lost the portside thruster," said a stunned Carver.

"Can you get it back up?"

"I mean it's _gone_, Captain. Boom."

Confusion made him angry, and Rayner took a second to bury his temper. "Any way we can get out of here?"

"The dampers are down and our integrity field is barely holding up. We're in no fit state to move even of we could."

The captain sat back and looked into the blank viewscreen.

They were low on energy, their shields too weak to protect them from the stress of normal flight. The Phantom… was adrift.

Commander Varik's science station was dead. There was nothing he could do but turn to his chief. "Captain. I should point out… Radiation levels were rising before the sensors failed."

The captain nodded in understanding. A foreboding statement if ever he'd heard one. "Can we at least have some light in here?"

The chief engineer had yet more bad news. "I'm having difficulty accessing the main power grid. Emergency systems are unresponsive. It's like parts of our whole network just died."

Rayner's patience was breaking. "What about the alert lights? Aren't they on a separate supply? Switch _them_on. …And alert the crew."

* * *

Willow was asleep in her bunk when the engine blew. She was having a dream about an earthquake. Only it wasn't a dream. She opened her eyes slowly… but she still couldn't see. Everything was black. Was she blind? She heard movement.

Kimberly flashed a torch light in her face. "Willow? You okay?"

Will squinted against the sudden glare. "Are we being attacked?"

"I don't think so." Clegg put the cube torch on the workstation and went into the small wall cupboard for her uniform. "I think something just blew out on us."

In the glow of the torch, Willow watched her from the high bunk.

She was in her night clothes; a tight grey vest that showed off her slender midriff, and scant matching panties.

Will traced the line of her bare legs up towards her–

She caught herself, and rolled back into her bed. She felt guilt, or shame perhaps, over her thoughts. Her bad bad thoughts.

"Willow? Are you coming?"

"Uh-huh."

"Come on, get dressed."

"Yep."

* * *

In their uniforms and out in the aisles, Will and Clegg found Xander and Anya already wandering through the confusion. Along the walls, strips of red light from the emergency alarm system were on constant, giving the dark ship a faint red glow. It was like a submarine on high alert. The Red October waiting for the torpedo strike. And without the hum of the engines the quiet was unnerving.

A security crewman approached along the corridor with a light in his hand.

"What's going on?" Clegg said to him.

His torch lit her shirt collar. "PRD?"

"That's right."

He shone the light back along the hall. "Commander Laine's gathering security and PRD in the mess for a briefing," he explained. Others emerged and the officer called out: "Science and engineering crews to main engineering. Medical staff to the sickbay, please."

Willow looked to Clegg, but her face held no answers. She turned to Xander and Anya. They looked like they had the same feeling she did. That awful sinking of the heart.

Something sinister was afoot.

* * *

Captain Rayner climbed the ladders from the nacelle deck up onto the railed gangway and found Commander Joshua Carver at the portside thruster assembly.

Above and below were two stacked pairs of 6ft spheres – the impulse fusion reactors – surrounded by a heatproof metal mesh walkway. Fitted over these spheres was the jet-like thruster assembly.

He found Carver and his men climbing about on the reactors with their engineering devices.

"Report."

The chief came down and met him on the platform. "Well, there's the thruster." It was still smoking. "The magnetic pumps have cracked, the distribution nodes are cooked, and the thrust nozzles are in pieces."

That sounded like a lot of damage for no reason. "Cause?"

"On first inspection, it looks like it was either the plasma return inlets or the field trap that exploded. Probably the latter. From what I can see here… maybe something got into the engine through the scoops. Something that ate away at the duranium casing, or super-heated the plasma. Maybe something in that cloud out there. We'll hopefully know more when we take this thing apart and get a look inside."

"Repair time?"

"This kind of damage? …A day. It'll mean taking some of the parts from one of the other backup thrusters." Carver wasn't sure what the captain was asking. He squinted at the man. "You want this fixing now?"

Rayner looked up at the smoking heap of scrap. It was just one thruster. They had bigger problems. "No, leave it. Have your people investigate the cause, but I want all your repair crews working on our power situation. Dampers, shields, sensors. Find a way to get us out of this fog."

Carver gave a tip of the head as something stirred up behind him. Looking back, he saw Lt. Haim stumble out from behind the secondary impulse reactor, catching himself on the platform railing, then collapsing face-first onto the metal grill.

Carver hit his badge. "Emergency medical team to reactor assembly three!" He rushed across to Haim, rolled him over, and checked his breathing. He was alive. He looked up at Haim's team. "What happened to him in there?"

"He was fine a second ago, Commander," said Ensign Partida. "Then… he just walked out here and fainted."

The chief removed his uniform jacket, rolled it and eased it under Haim's head. He turned to Rayner with a look that said something very strange was at work on the Phantom today.

* * *

The captain passed through the door and onto his dying bridge. "Varik. We need to identify what's in that cloud. Any progress?"

The Vulcan, observing Nog as he played around with the inner workings of the ops station, stood upright. "We are experiencing major difficulties with our sensors, Captain," he explained. "The partial loss of EPS supply to large sections of each array has limited our scanning ability."

"Engineering crews are working on restoring power, but I need something now."

"It may be possible to bypass the effected sections of the arrays, sir," suggested Nog from the floor. "If we route their functions through the working EPS taps. Unfortunately, the engineering controls are not functioning."

"Then someone needs to rewire them from the Jefferies tubes," Rayner said.

"That would take a considerable amount of time," warned Varik. "…However, if we were to route them directly through one of the auxiliary generators…"

_Of course_, thought Nog. _Much easier_. But… he didn't want to mention it was less likely to work.

Varik said it for him. "Although, it may prove too great a drain on the smaller supply."

Rayner paced the bridge. There was no image on the viewer, and many of the computer terminals were blackened out.

Varik's eyes narrowed slightly as he squinted against the dull ache in his head. Over the past few minutes he'd begun to notice a light throbbing growing at his temples. It was faint, barely warranting consideration. He gave no sign of his discomfort.

The captain turned back to them. "It's worth a try. One of you up for it?"

Varik suppressed his headache. He required a distraction, something to get him off the bridge for a while. "I will attend to it."

* * *

Laine didn't have much to say in his briefing in the mess hall. They were adrift. In a cloud. His instructions: Not to panic. Have breakfast and report to their departments as normal.

So, the Scoobs were back in that dining room. The place they had received the bad news just days before. Now it was full of life and people. It was breakfast, and _everyone_ was on duty today.

Torches and candles gave the mess a warm glow. Power was down, or sporadic at best. One of the security boys had opened the ceiling and disconnected the one flickering light still trying to work. Life support was still working so the room wasn't any colder, which was a blessing.

Will, Xander, Anya and Clegg had taken one of the corner tables out of the way. Crewmen were handing out ration packs and occasionally the food slot would fire up and someone (usually the quickest on their toes) managed to coax a meal out of it.

Xander gave his sorry little bag of breakfast a sideways sneer and ripped the top strip away. "Whadda we have today?" he gave it a sniff and recoiled.

Kimberly examined his shiny wrapper. "Ration pack four," she said. "Slow-release nutrients in a tasty asparagus paste. Yum."

He turned longingly toward the food slot.

The others opened their little goodie bags.

"Dried bread and cheese spread," said an excited Clegg.

"Protein bar and apple pie," trumped Willow.

Xander pushed his asparagus slime toward her. "Trade?"

She pulled away from him, keeping her rations on her far side.

It looked like Anya had the oatmeal. But she wasn't giving it up either.

There was nothing for it. He was starving. Xander spooned up a mouthful of green paste, swilled it down with half a bottle of water, and shuddered.

_What a mission_, he grumbled to himself. It wasn't only the rations that made him cringe. Xander wasn't happy at all. He'd been on smaller craft that had lost their power and life support before, and in those situations he'd experienced a fear like none he'd known. He didn't much want to go there again. Those times, he'd had another spacecraft to go to. He knew he could do that again if he really had to. Throw on a suit, jump through space, and get in another ride. But this time was different. If life support went out on the Phantom… there was nowhere to run to. They had a full crew, a little shuttle, some escape pods, a few space suits… but how long would the air last in those? And, if the Phantom didn't work properly in the cloud, why would they be any different?

He tried to tell himself he'd been in worse fixes since landing here in spaceworld. But it didn't stop the fear.

Laine had a table across the room with Schlatnak and two other security guys. Maybe it was something about being security that meant they had to be tough and rowdy, but they were the loudest bunch in the mess.

"C'mon, tell us the funniest Monchezken joke you know," coaxed Laine as he gave Schlatnak a light slap on the back.

After some internal debate, the slender Monchezken finally caved in and said, with an ethereal soft tone: "Pilot, spacecraft window fabric having. Friend, curious speaking. Pilot, unknown destination wanting."

Silence.

Schlatnak's big black almond eyes blinked.

"What was that?" said a baffled Laine. "Was that it?" He didn't get it. He looked around. Nobody seemed to get it.

"Wait, wait, wait," said one of the other men at the table. "Let me think about this… So, a shuttle pilot's got a curtain up across his main window… and his friend says 'Buddy, why you got a curtain on your window?' …and the pilot replies… 'I don't wanna know where I'm going 'till I get there.'"

Still, no one laughed.

"He wants his destination to be a surprise, right?" offered the security guy.

Laine's face was still creased up. "And that's funny?"

"I suppose," replied the guy. "Think about it. What good is a curtain when the window doesn't even matter? I mean, you've gotta program your destination in for the shuttle to go anywhere, right? Or at least put in the co-ordinates. And if you don't wanna know where you're going, just put in some random heading and see where it takes you. Doesn't matter if you can see out the window. Having a curtain's just… dumb."

"Mmm," Laine replied dubiously, and poured a pack of roasted cashews down his neck.

One of the medics on the blue-shirt's bench called over. "Hey, Commander."

Laine looked up.

"I heard one of the engines exploded."

"I heard someone planted a bomb," said a red-shirt from the red table.

"No one planted a bomb," said Laine, shaking his head at them. "The thruster popped all by itself."

"Thrusters don't just explode for no reason," came a hidden response.

"The gas ignited in the scoop or something," called Laine. "Enough with the nonsense. Engineers are looking into it. Until you hear from them, no more stories. Got it?" he sounded a little annoyed at the end and no one else offered any opinions.

"Can we squeeze in?" asked a perfectly synchronised pair of female voices.

Xander was drawn back to his own table where the twins were standing over him. He had a sudden picture of them both sitting on his lap – one on each knee.

He checked that Anya wasn't reading his face, then dragged his chair closer to her to make room. They pulled up seats and joined them, with 2 cups of dirty liquid.

"You got the replicator working?" said Kimberley.

"Magic touch," they answered. One of them gave a cocky wink.

"Say, ladies," Xander threw at the pair. "We can't just keep calling you guys 'the twins'. What's these names you have that are so hard to remember?"

The one furthest from him swallowed from her cup and offered: "Elaniimilaneeterilazamuu Taro."

The nearer one had one elbow on the back of her chair, her hand hanging coolly at her side. She took a drink and replied with a half smile: "Meeyaristaloolodezamuu Taro."

"…Uh-huh." Xander considered that for a moment. What was it they'd said? "Okay. Yeah, that's not gonna work." He aimed a finger at the far one. "What was yours again?"

"Elanii–"

"Wait," he interrupted. "Did I catch an 'Ella' in there?" He turned to the nearer one. "And you?"

"Meeya–"

"Mia," he cut in. "Like Mia Farrow, right?"

Kimberly Clegg leaned in and considered the twins through new eyes. She smiled approvingly. "Ella and Mia."

The twins seemed game for that.

"Now we just need to remember who's who," said Willow.

Xander was pleased with himself and the asparagus paste didn't taste so bad anymore. And he didn't find it too hard to tell them apart, either. You could see it in their body language, and in their faces. They had different ways of expressing themselves.

Ella tended to stand with her arms behind her back and her legs straight. Formal. Strict.

Mia usually stood with her hands on her hips and one leg angled out. Casual. Loose.

Ella's body language and facial expressions were more reserved and bashful.

Mia's were more expressive and confident.

Ella was balanced. She would drop her head and smile fully.

Mia was a bit more of a rebel. She would keep her head high and smile on one side of her mouth. They even walked differently. Mia had swagger.

Though identical, Ella had a cuteness about her, whereas Mia gave off more of a sexy vibe.

Ella was the kind one, the more polite, and Mia the tough one with the attitude.

It was like they were two sides of the same personality.

And the chin wattle – Ella had one dangly teardrop of skin under there. Mia had the same but with another smaller one behind it.

It occurred to Xander, at that moment, that he probably spent too much time looking at them if he'd noticed all this already. But they were… interesting to look at. Alluring even.

They were completely alien yet, with all the species they were encountering, they were so normal too. He no longer felt weird hanging out with a pair of pink fish chicks.

They took another drink of their mucky water. It looked like there were particles of dust floating in the cloudy liquid.

Xander had to ask. "What _are_ you drinking?"

"Eetooflac," they said in stereo. "It's breakfast." Looking at each other, they tried to imagine the Terran equivalent. "…Seawater and plankton."

'_Kay, maybe a _little_ weird_, Xander reconsidered. "So… There many twins on your planet?"

Anya gave him that look, and he showed her his '_honestly, dear, I'm not flirting_' face.

As it turned out, he was soon informed, their race were almost always born as twins. The Aquiinarians were a race born from cocoons, making Ella and Mia the same age. Neither one was 'born' first. They were a telepathically linked twinned species, sharing a symbiotic collective intelligence between each pair, which was why they could speak as one. On their world, twins were joined at the brainwave level. They could speak as one and think as one and, so far, Ella and Mia had always been together.

When Xander asked how that worked if one of them happened to… be involved with a man-fish… They explained that Aquiinarians mate as a pair, usually with a pair.

The logistics of that boggled his brain a bit.

The PRD team turned their heads to the ceiling as the security officers headed out and Laine gave them a cool salute as he passed.

The doors opened briefly then closed behind them.

"How the hell does Laine sleep?" said one of the lieutenants on another table. "You've seen the beds here. There's no way he can fit in one of these bunks. His bottom half wouldn't even squeeze."

Someone laughed.

"Did you know he's got his own room?" said someone else.

The PRD team shared a few private smiles and wiggly eyebrows.

Clegg leaned across the table and quietly gossiped to her team. "Did I tell you? Laine's personnel file – it's partially classified. Captain's eyes only."

The twins leaned in. "His file's private," said Ella. "His room's private," said Mia. "The guy is definitely a Chameloid," they said together.

"Whatever he is, he's sure _something_ special," uttered Xander, unaware he was testing his own bicep with one hand.

As the others moved out, Will, Xander and Anya were left alone at the table.

"Makes sense to have Laine along," Anya was saying, "if he's one of those shapeshifters they're talking about. He's a good weapon to have on a mission like this. And quite a talent. Even Willow can't get a person back from a rat."

Will's face went sour for a second, then she added: "It's like the twins."

"The twins?" Xander echoed. "What about the twins?" Were they shift-shapers too?

"They have electrocyte muscles in their bodies that can generate alternating current," she explained. "Like an electric eel."

"Riiight." Things were starting to surprise him less and less.

Maybe that's how they got their breakfast!

He took it onboard with a single nod. "Pink twins go zap."

* * *

When Varik returned from his hour in the maintenance crawl space, Commander Merran was on the bridge. The elderly woman was attempting to access the PRD system but her screens were among those receiving intermittent power.

The Vulcan rubbed his eyes where the ache had spread, and moved to begin the sensor bypass start-up routine with Nog.

While they worked, the bypass idea got Captain Rayner thinking. He leaned forward in his seat and tapped his communicator as Ensign Gunnlaugsdóttir arrived to relieve the night pilot. "Rayner to Carver. What if we bypass the engines and clear out the ramscoops? Maybe venting whatever came in will give us some momentum?"

"It's a theory," replied the engineer. "It might work. We should be able to get partial integrity in a few minutes, Captain. If you can live without the dampers we could give it a try."

"We'll do that. Bridge out."

Commander Varik was knelt with his head under the ops station, linking to the auxiliary generator, when he heard a strange sigh from helm. Looking up, the blonde ensign looked to have entered into a trance. Her eyes were fixed on the dead navigational controls.

"Something's there," the girl whispered faintly.

"Excuse me?" he said to her. Even his Vulcan ears didn't quite make her out. "Did you speak?"

"We're ready to vent down here if you're ready to give this a go, Captain," said Carver's voice over the comm.

"Something's out there," Lori repeated louder. "Come to destroy us all." She was growing agitated. "I can't breathe with it. I can't hear. I can't hear my brothers and sisters!"

Rayner turned to her and she looked right at him with wild carnal eyes.

"Must stop." She leapt out of her seat and grabbed for the captain. "Stop!"

Varik came out of nowhere, reached around her neck, and pinched the nerve.

Lori collapsed on top of Rayner. He struggled up and lifted her in his arms, offering her to his first officer. "Get her to sickbay. Tell them to run a psyche evaluation." As Varik left, Rayner shook the attack off. There was something unnerving about the incident that he didn't like.

Commander Merran, on the other hand, was quiet excited, suggesting her team might know something about it. Rayner grumbled.

Carver's voice came back over the line: "You still there, Captain?"

He huffed in annoyance and slapped his badge. "Hold."

"What about Ensign Gunnlaugsdóttir?" asked the old Bajoran. "It would be helpful if we could talk to her."

"Your people can prod and poke her all you want just as soon as the doctor says so."

* * *

"Reports are they tried venting the engines to give us a push," Kimberly told Xander and Willow as they reached sickbay.

"I take it that was a bust," he inferred.

Laine was outside the doors.

"What happened to the pilot?" asked Clegg.

The big guy rubbed his stubbled head. He seemed upset. "Doctor Singh says she's had a mild stroke. It's like whatever happened to the thrusters happened to her brain. Something just… popped."

They didn't know what to say.

"The doc repaired the damage," he went on, "but she lapsed into a coma soon after. And she's not alone."

He stepped through the doors and they saw two of the three beds were occupied. Lori was unconscious in one; her eyes fixed open, staring empty at the ceiling. A male officer in the other, same deal.

Singh crossed to Laine with his hands on his hips. "I've tried every relaxant I can think of, even surgical glue. … I just can't get their eyes to close," he said, as if he didn't want them to think he was being cruel on purpose.

Willow asked about their behaviour before the comas, and the security chief told them of Lori's attack on the captain.

"I think we could be looking at some kind of possession," submitted the witch. "Past-life regression, maybe. To an animalistic state."

"But if others are being effected too…" said Xander. "Is that something that can effect a group?"

Will reassessed. "A haunting? Spirits?"

Laine, who hadn't really expected any of this freaky stuff to actually happen, pulled Willow aside. "Any ideas how I should handle this?"

Will pursed her lips and said; "Might wanna start by getting yourself a stake."

* * *

Jenna Howell stepped into her quarters and sighed when her lights failed to work. Her 'cellmate', who was a constant chatterbox, was still on duty and she knew she had time for a shower in peace. She removed the pips from her blue collar and began to strip in the light of a palm torch she rested on the table.

Behind her, a silent shadow stirred.

She turned; having that strange feeling of not being alone, but there was only darkness.

Jenna removed her jacket.

Eyes behind her.

A gurning mouth full of anticipation and saliva.

A Starfleet uniform.

The man crept up behind her in the dark.

She sensed him, began to turn, and he grabbed her, clamping one hand across her mouth.

Howell tried to scream, struggled to fight, but there was nothing she could do. Her muscles were not so strong as his desire. His lust was insurmountable as he forced her down onto the table. And still, his sweaty palms silenced her cries.

* * *

Thirty minutes after, and Willow had her team gathered in the middle of the dungeon floor. Xander and Anya, Kimberly, Mei-Li and the twins. PRD was still getting some power and lights were working, along with many computer interfaces. She'd used their new cargo replicator pad to create a low circular table covered in a white linen cloth with a candle in the centre.

Two more of the crew had reportedly acted strangely, said some weird things, then lapsed into a catatonic state like the pilot. Something had to be done.

"The people being possessed were talking gibberish and now they're all in comas," announced Willow. "So, what I propose is…we do a séance to contact the unknown spirits. To try and get some sense out of them."

Surprise showed on some of their faces. Maybe a little fear too at the word 'séance'. But it was a far cry from the crazy Poltergeist-Exorcist fantasy of the horror movies, and the young witch knew she had the strength to lead such a call to the spirits. The Mother Goddess had told her she did, and she'd proved it by channelling the spirit of the First Sorcerer already. This would be peanuts in comparison. But she'd had to do some serious thinking just to get it done.

Normally she might have used some Solomonic magic to connect with such spirits, but in this case she didn't have any of Giles' Solomonic amulets. This time she would have to try a more simple Demonio Espiritismo approach. As a result, there was a cross on the table and a red ribbon was tied loosely around her waist.

Kimberly was the first to throw herself bravely into the role of the coven. "What do you need from us?"

Will could almost see it on her face, as she grabbed the broomstick by the handle and jumped on for the ride. "If this works, I'm gonna need you to talk to the spirits. Try and get as much information about what they want and why they're attacking us as you can." To the others she said, "I'll be acting as the Espiritista so I'll lead, I just need you guys to make a link, to believe, and concentrate on giving your energy to the calling."

Willow had the computer translate her calling into Spanish and uploaded it onto a small padd.

Kimberly disabled the room's fire-suppression system (just in case power returned to it) and lit the candle.

The twins arrived back with Will's dish of Spanish moss, which they set on the table, lit it, and let it burn.

"What if the spirits turn out to be hostile?" asked Mei-Li. She sounded quite uncertain about the whole idea.

"That's one very valid point, Will," agreed Xander.

"In that case, we should be able to banish them if they're as malevolent as they seem," answered Will reassuringly. She was almost certain they were going to turn out hostile. "And they won't be able to perform any physical actions through me, so it's safe."

Will reached around her neck and removed her protection pouch so that the spirits could connect with her, and sat them all down on the carpet in a circle around the table, and had them link hands.

Xander had Anya on one side and Mia on the other. The hand of the confident twin was unlike any human hand he'd known. As she slipped hers into his, he found it to be smooth and, not moist, but oily. It didn't feel gross.

"Ready?" asked Willow. No one said otherwise, but they did look nervous. She was excited. She could finally show them what a true Wicca could do, which would be cool. "Computer – extinguish the lights."

As the overheads faded, the candlelight covered only the small area created by their circle. Now it really did feel like a dungeon.

Willow looked down at the padd, praying the translation was accurate.

_I call upon the spirits_, was the first line. "Hago un llamamiento a los espíritus," she pronounced, and checked the next translation.

_That encircle this, our shrine_ – "Que cercan este, nuestro santuario."

_Spirits of possession_ – "Espíritus de la posesión."

_Spirits of destruction_ – "Espíritus de la destrucción."

_Spirits who make mortals sleep _– "Espíritus que hacen los mortales dormir."

_And hold them beneath a shroud of death_ – "y mantener a nuestra gente bajo un sudario de muerte."

_I call thee forth to speak_– "Pido ti para venir y hablar."

They silently awaited the coming of the spirits…

Seconds passed in the flickering firelight. The girls were looking around for signs of life.

The seconds stretched out and Willow was starting to feel the warmth of her cheeks as embarrassment began to flush them. "Pido ti para venir y hablar," she decreed once more.

_Come on_, thought Will. People were watching.

Then, WHAM!

Mei-Li squealed, flailed her arms about her head and crawled away suddenly into the dark of the room.

Hands quickly parted as they pulled back from the table in surprise. They looked at her, but Willow didn't understand what was happening. Mei wore a pouch. She should have been protected.

Kimberly called out: "Mei? What happened there? You okay?"

They heard something unlock.

Clegg got up warily. "Computer – reinitialise ligh–"

Mei-Li reappeared in the candlelight with a phaser pistol in her grip.

Confusion and shock froze the group.

Mei's gentle face was intense with purpose and she brought her weapon around toward Will and Kim.

Mia saw an opening and made a move on her, leaping across the table and–

A single phaser beam stopped her dead and the twin smacked into the carpet.

The group gasped.

She'd actually fired. She shot Mia!

They jumped up off the floor as self-preservation kicked in.

Ella dove across to her sister.

Jr. Ensign Hua held the phaser with a steady grip Her large Asian eyes were narrow slits filled with a dark rage. "You…took me from them and now their voices are silent to me. You did this."

Kimberly tried to ease toward her a step and reposition herself for an attack, but Mei caught her. She fired at Clegg, who rolled aside into the darkness and headed for the weapons locker.

"We were one and many and you tear us apart. You burn us with your breath." She aimed the pistol at Willow's head. "Demons! Demons within a Demon cage!"

Xander stormed out of the shadows and slapped the weapon from her hand.

He tried to get a hold of her wrists but Mei spun on him with a cutting kung-fu kick, which he blocked with both forearms. She whipped back around and slapped a fist across his face, and spun back again for another kicking. Xander moved into her and tackled the small girl to the floor, shoving her face into the carpet and locking her wrists behind her back.

He instantly felt bad about manhandling the shy little wallflower; though it was a relief to know his security training could kick-in like that. Then he felt her change beneath him. Her struggling ceased and her breathing came to a near standstill. Her eyes were fixed open, but dead to the world. He looked to the others. "I think she just went under."

"Mia?" Willow voiced fearfully.

"She's alive," sighed her sister.

Clegg reappeared with a second pistol, and checked the one Mei-Li had used. She let out a loud breath of relief. "It's still on the default setting. Level-one stun. She'll be alright in a few minutes."

"That was all rather… unexpected," noted Anya. She whispered to Xander, "That thing you did…that was hot."

A minute later, Laine turned up with a medical team. He asked a lot of questions about what they were doing when it happened. Anya had questions of her own. She was walking around the room mulling over the oriental girl's possession, and the things she said. She couldn't figure why, but something troubled her. Something more than the obvious.

Willow, on the other hand, felt like a lot of her own questions had already been dealt with. They just needed to fill in the blanks and get to work.

* * *

One by one, his crew was going crazy. Reports were flying in and Rayner wasn't impressed by any of them. People shooting each other with phasers on every deck – luckily on the default stun setting. One tried to destroy the engines. People attacking each other and hacking away at the ship. Javen Rayner could almost feel HP Lovecraft's madness biting down on them.

He looked around his bridge, which he knew, at this moment, wasn't much of a bridge.

Nog was still working on getting ops to run sensors, and Varik was at tactical where he'd patched into the memory core.

"Found anything like this in the databanks?" the captain asked him.

The Vulcan brought up the latest matches. "On stardate four-five-five-seven-one point two, on the M-class moon of Mab-Bu six," he reported, "the USS Enterprise encountered the consciousness' of the condemned prisoners of Ux-Mal. They attempted to seize control of the crew."

"Could we be experiencing something similar?"

"In that case, their consciousness' were trapped in an electrical storm on the moon's surface, not drifting in space. Without the storm, or a host, they would have dissipated."

"Besides," said Laine, "there's something… animalistic about what's happening here."

Rayner turned to the giant at tactical. "How do you mean, Commander?"

"Based on eye-witness accounts, the attacks seem to be expressions of raw basic desires and emotions. Like fear, defence, procreation."

"Procreation?"

"The last case reported… I'm afraid there was a sexual assault, sir."

The captain stiffened up. Laine thought maybe he wasn't made of stone after all. "The victim?"

"Lieutenant Howell. She's with one of the nurses now. She… well, you can imagine."

Rayner sat down and spun away from tactical.

His mind was flying down dead end alleys at warp 9 as he tried to think. They had to do something. This wasn't merely annoying any more. Things were escalating to the point of serious sh*t.

* * *

Willow paced across Xander's quarters. It was a small room. It didn't take long to cross. She got tired of turning around every four steps and stopped at the door. "These possessions are becoming increasingly violent. We need to figure this out. Now."

"What about a soul prison?" Anya proposed from the small table.

"What's that?" asked Xander. It just had to be something new every time, didn't it?

"Trapping Demon consciousness' in a soul prison was a practice started by early witches," Will explained.

After a quick rethink, Anya shook her head. "Ah, but, that doesn't make any sense."

But Will had latched onto something. It was like Mei had said –_ Demons within a Demon cage_! "No, wait, it fits. If Darkness brought them from that hell dimension and they somehow got free…"

"But those soul prisons weren't in any Demon realms," argued Anya. "They were Earth-bound cages – usually in some kind of container, or even a toilet bowl like that one time in Yugoslavia."

"Just because you never heard of a Demon soul prison being banished to a hell dimension, it doesn't mean one wasn't. Once you eliminate all other possibilities, whatever's left must be the truth."

"But I just eliminated that."

"No you didn't."

"Yes I did, and anyway, who's the Demon specialist here?" She pointed at Willow. "Witchy magic expert." And then to herself. "Former-Demon Demon specialist. I'm telling you, it's not a soul prison."

"What about me?" said Xander. "I'm a specialist."

Anya patted his arm. "Aw, sweetie. Sure you are."

"And I'm telling you it is," Will pressed on. "There's nothing else any of us can think of that explains it."

"Well, no," Anya had to agree. "But that just means we can't explain it."

There was a growing tension in the ranks that was beginning to trouble Xander. "Sure wish the Buffster was here. She'd know what to do." They looked at him offensively. "Alright, no, she wouldn't, but she'd do _something_."

"Buffy's gone, Xander," Willow told him flatly. "We're the Spooky Group now. We can deal with this."

"We're the _Spooky Group_? Since when?"

"You need to deal with yourself first," Anya warned her.

Xander wasn't liking it. This argument was about ready to turn ugly. "Look, what about Giles? We can give him a call."

"We're on our own out here," Will fired back, sounding annoyed with him. "They expect _us_ to fix this."

"They expect_ us_ to _advise_," rephrased Anya. She said to Xander; "Giles is nothing special anyway. That Baragnos thing – I could have told you that. And how to kill it. I could have made that call and saved a lot of trouble."

Willow let out a false laugh. "Well you're not helping much right now, negative-girl."

Anya said all she had to say with her face. She was through arguing when it was clearly pointless.

"I've gotta go," Willow said after more glaring. "You might not be willing to do something about this, but I am." She stormed out.

Xander whistled out air silently and relaxed.

"I was worried about this," muttered Anya.

"You think she's possessed?"

"No. Worse. She's acting all cuckoo because she's too scared to admit we don't know what's out there."

"This whole mission's riding on us knowing what we're supposed to know," he said.

"Well, we don't _have_ to know everything. Someone should tell psycho-witch that before she goes trying to decimate every bumpy-headed alien."

Xander sagged back in his chair. By someone, she meant him. After a second he took a deep breath. "Maybe she's right," he said, taking a massive risk. "About this soul prison thing."

But Anya didn't get upset as he'd expected. She looked at the door thoughtfully with sadness in her eyes. "She's not."

* * *

Laine was still on the bridge, but something seemed strange. His legs were becoming weak and his head all floaty. He felt himself slipping into a daydream. His hands were drifting over the tactical console but they looked and felt so far away from him that he lost all feeling in them. And then he was away, drifting through a dark cloud. He was alone, but he knew the others were somewhere around. He searched through the thick smog and it felt like trying to wade through a heavy mix of smoke and gelatine. He felt himself growing numb and small. He was shrinking – shrinking and shrinking until he was no more than an atom in a never-ending mist that was quickly hardening to stone.

On the bridge, Laine was distant – a million miles away. His hands were slowly stroking his console like it was something new and alien to him. It was displaying internal sensors but he didn't understand it.

The door to the left of the bridge opened up and one of his security officers approached him with an update. "Commander, I've just finished going over the–"

Laine spun his head around at the man so suddenly it surprised him into silence. The big man took his huge hands from the console and straightened up, giving the officer a curious inspection.

"As I was saying, sir–"

Lieutenant Commander Laine threw the full force of his right fist into the man's face, launching him into the wall. His nose exploded and the back of his head cracked as it slammed against the bulkhead.

Everyone on the bridge was up, alert, and wide-eyed as they looked on the head of security in disbelief. The other man was a crumpled mess as he lay unmoving against the wall.

Rayner understood right away what was happening. It was possibly the worst thing that could happen. Commander Laine… evil and insane.

He looked to Varik and, with his eyes alone, he begged the Vulcan for his nerve pinch attack once again. But Varik saw the size of the man and, when he turned his face back to the captain, Rayner understood it was clearly not going to happen.

Before they had a chance to do a thing, the big man was off the bridge.

The second the door closed, Rayner pointed Varik at the floored officer. The man looked as dead as a man could be.

As Varik called for a medical team, Captain Rayner went to tactical and hit a button. "Bridge to Lieutenant Schlatnak."

A pause, then: "Captain?"

"Lieutenant, you are now the acting chief of security. I want you to bring Commander Laine in. Sedate him if necessary."

"…Sir?"

"In fact, set your weapons to their highest stun level. Bring him down. Do you understand?"

Another pause. "…Yes, sir."

"And, for God's sake," Rayner added, looking at the crumpled man's destroyed face, "Don't hesitate for a second."

* * *

Xander found Willow in the dungeon, in the old lady's office, working at the rear station – the only one with reliable power. She half noticed him as he came in and sat at the briefing table across the room.

"Just our luck to get the only soul prison to be sent to hell and escape into space," he said, trying to sound casual. "Not to mention that the jailers forgot to put bars on the cage to keep all the evil spirits from frolicking about."

She didn't look up. "I see what you're trying to do, Xander. But I know what this is. I can feel it in my gut… And I'm gonna stop it."

He tried to speak carefully. "Will, maybe you should just…stop yourself a minute…and take a hard look at the facts."

"The _facts_ are that people are being possessed and turning evil and if I don't do something _now_, we could all be taken over by Demon spirits."

"I thought your groovy pouches were supposed to prevent possession?" he pointed out, waving his at her.

"They're not working. Obviously this's some other kind of Demon energy. Besides, I never said they were a hundred percent. Xander, no offence and all, but you don't know this stuff. I do."

"You're right. I don't know this magic Demon stuff. But I know when things feel off."

She turned to him then, looking stressed and hurt. "I thought we were a team."

"So did I," he threw back. "A team of…however many are on this ship. Not a team of _one_." He leaned over the table toward her. "I know we've had some setbacks lately. But we don't need a victory this badly."

Willow's face darkened. Hurt became outrage. "You think I would do that?" she said loudly. "I'm hardly new to this. You don't know what you're talking about." She ignored him and went back to the computer.

It was Xander that was hurt now, but he tried to get through regardless. "Okay, so I'm not an expert, but I've been through everything you have and I'm hardly new to this myself. We're out here in the great back of beyond without our two generals, sure, but there are still three of us… You don't have to try to fill their shoes, y'know. If we can stick together and make decisions as a team… then maybe none of us have to feel so burdened with this great responsibility. And when two out of three feel like maybe there are other avenues to–"

"We're not dealing with something we can punch or stab here," she cut in. "Spirits have to be exorcised and, I'm sorry, but you're in no position to have any clue what's right and wrong when it comes to this. I'm the _only_ one onboard this ship qualified to do that. Not you, not Anya, and not even Buffy."

Now Xander was angry, and his patience for treading lightly was gone. "And here you are in the dungeon with the witches' coven where you're meant to do witch stuff and you're just jumpin' on the band wagon …only without the band. It's a Willow-wagon."

She transferred her work onto her padd and got up. "I'm not stupid, Xander. Mei-Li said they were Demons. Demons in a Demon cage."

She had said that. Yet… "You sure she wasn't talking about us?"

Will went around him and out of the room. "I don't have time for this."

He didn't go after her. He wasn't even sure if he _should _be arguing with her. What if she was right after all? And, then… well, she really was the only one who stood any chance of fixing things.

* * *

Anya headed through the small corridors of the ship on her way to the dungeon to find where Xander had got to when she stopped and looked around. Something wasn't right. Was she lost? She should have arrived there by now. Wrong turn? Wrong floor?

She moved to the nearest intersection to consider her next move. She didn't want to admit defeat and ask the computer lady for help. She should really know what she was doing by now.

Anya stopped.

The big security guy – Laine – was down the next alley. He looked even more lost than she did, which was… odd. He rolled his hulking frame around and spotted her.

She wanted to say something to him, but part of her wouldn't let her speak. Laine's eyes thinned, and his lips curled back in a menacing sneer. He took a step toward her.

Anya took a step back. The big guy didn't look right and part of her was figuring out why.

It happened suddenly. Anya was running headlong back through the ship with Laine sprinting after her. His heavy feet were smashing so hard into the deck it felt like he was right on top of her. She ran as hard as she could, gasping for air, hoping to hell she was going the right way.

She rounded a corner and there it was – the elevator. She didn't dare slow down, even as she reached the door and slammed into it at full speed.

Anya screamed as her arm exploded with pain. The doors parted and she fell into the lift, crashing onto her arm again. She cried out, rolled over and saw Laine pelting toward the doors. He was almost at the turbolift when Anya cried out for deck 2.

Just as she thought the doors were closing, they opened up again. He was too close! _Stupid doors!_

Laine was in the lift and the doors shut. He looked down at her on the floor. Tears were filling her eyes – tears of pain from the needles of it that fired up her arm. But now the tears of fear were building up. He looked like a wild beast trapped in a man's body. An unbelievably powerful man.

He reached down, snatched her bad arm and raised her up like a rag doll until her hand hit the ceiling. She screamed again with the explosion of pain. Her vision began to lose focus and she thought she was about to pass out. Pass out and never wake up.

The elevator jerked as it set off and the giant ogre paused, his eyes darting between the passing lights around this cage he'd found himself in. He grunted loud and smashed the bottom of his free fist against the flashing lights, breaking glass.

The lift stopped and the doors opened. Anya saw an empty corridor – no – there was a female officer, a red-haired yellow shirt, at the far bend.

Everything span into a blur as she was tossed out of the turbolift and into the carpet outside. The pain in her arm was unbearable.

A moment later and the officer woman was picking her up, shouldering her good arm, and moving her away. Laine was still beating at the inside of the lift. The relief! By Christ, the relief!

McNair hit her communicator and called for back-up.

As they reached the bend, Anya was released. She managed to stay upright, unsteady as she was with the pain and weakness overcoming her.

"Keep going," said the woman, unholstering her gun. "Get to your room. Lock the door."

Looking beyond her deep red hair, which was pulled into a tight bun, Anya saw that Laine was out. He was coming again and so she didn't argue. Anya retreated drunkenly into the bend and on and on. She cradled her arm and kept going. When she heard the crack that came from back down the corridor, she forced herself to run again.

McNair was as fiery as her hair suggested. She turned as Anya disappeared and faced her chief. It wasn't her chief anymore, she knew. He was a giant bear loose on the ship and her job now was to get him to his cage. She checked her phaser. Setting 3 – heavy stun.

Laine kept coming toward her. He was so fast with his huge legs that, in the second it took her to check the phaser, he was only feet away and still coming.

She raised her weapon. "Commander Lai–"

He slapped the woman aside and followed Anya.

McNair's ribs broke before she even hit the wall and floor.

Laine turned the bend and saw the girl.

As Anya reached the next corner, she looked back, and there he was again. Jason Voorhees. Michael Myers. Laine.

* * *

Xander was pacing his narrow room waiting for Anya to show up when the door slid open.

It wasn't Anya.

The Pink Twins, without asking, without an invite, sauntered into his room and let the door close.

"Guys?" he said. "What's goin' on?"

Mia moved around him, examining his body like a piece of meat. Her metallic blue eyes were hungry.

Ella stayed by the door. "The dark eye of the mother is no longer within our reach," she said with cryptic menace.

"It is the time of the seeding," Mia explained sassily as she pulled the zip down on her jacket.

"We must increase our number," Ella went on. "Before the cycle is over."

Xander laughed, and then frowned. He regarded them closely. They didn't seem to be joking. "I think some of us here have been drinking too deep from the fountain of..." when he thought about alcohol, he thought of spirits…and realised, "…of possession." He took a step away from Mia and put his hands up a little. "Okay, maybe it's time we all take a little trip to see the nice doctor."

The pair closed in on him. Their vibrant pink flesh seemed to be luminescent now, glowing. He was sure he felt heat coming off them.

"Remove the fabric from your body," they demanded.

Xander swallowed a frog. "You know, Anya said much the same thing to me once. You remember Anya, …my girlfriend."

Mia shoved him. Ella tripped him. Xander was on his back on the floor and pinned down before he realised what was happening. Ella was kneeling with all her weight on his arms and Mia straddled his legs. His pants were down.

In a terrifying moment of clarity, it dawned on him that his day had taken a very serious turn.

_Jesus_, he thought. They were gonna rape him.

Mia ripped open his shirt and now her oily smooth hands were all over his bare skin. "I felt your heat when you held my hand today," she whispered into his ear as she stroked his chest. "Your desire to mate."

He choked. "You girls might share a brain, but ours are on very different wavelengths here." She reached a hand down and what was soft began to harden. He couldn't help it. Good God, he couldn't help it. "You have to stop this. Seriously. Think about what you're do-ooh-ing."

Mia smiled and released him. She moved her crotch over the area her hand had been and slowly unzipped her black shirt and pulled it open.

Xander noticed she was bra-less right before he snapped his eyes shut.

_Weird nipples!_

Mia was about to remove her shirt when the door flew open and Anya rushed in.

In that instant, Anya forgot all about Laine.

Xander was on the floor with his trousers around his feet and a twin around his waist.

The twins looked up at her. Anya's mouth was a wide open cave. "What IS this?"

Xander's scrunched eyes popped open. "An? Thank God! I need help here."

"With what? I think they've got everything covered. Except those," she added, poking a sharp finger at Mia's breasts.

Xander closed his eyes again and let his head hit the carpet.

"We just need to borrow him," said a sympathetic Ella, sitting on his arms.

"We must mate before our time passes," explained Mia. "It won't take long."

"Hey."

"Oh, well," Anya reconsidered. "In that case, …NO!"

The twins stood up, freeing Xander, and he pulled his pants up in a flash and scrambled to his feet, grabbing a chair.

He'd covered his nakedness pretty quickly, but it was enough for Anya to see he hadn't been completely unwilling.

That little issue could wait. The twins were the thing to worry about now. Their faces had changed. Ella was no longer sympathetic. Now they were ready to kill for their prize.

Anya moved back into the doorway, and that's when she remembered Laine. His pounding footfalls were reverberating down the corridor. She turned. He saw her.

She stepped into the room quickly and away from the door.

Laine arrived just as it swished shut. He stopped the heavy door with his bare hands and forced it open.

Xander took Anya's hand and pulled her to the back of the room. What the hell _was_ this? Was _everyone_ possessed?

He had visions of them being chased down by the entire ship like some zombie movie, and then the twins surprised him. They moved to block Laine's path and protected the two of them.

Xander tapped his badge. "Security to…damn…The Harris' quarters."

"Room twenty-three!" Anya shouted into his nipple.

Commander Laine pounced inside, taking Mia by the throat with both hands and picking her off her feet. He throttled her and her eyes turned white.

Xander grabbed the chair again. Hell, the big fella was gonna kill them all.

Mia spasmed. Her final death throw.

Then Laine spasmed.

Mia shook again, and Laine growled and shivered in response. Then Mia raised her pink hands, wrapped them around his large wrists… and exploded with light. She flashed with electricity as she sent the volts firing through Laine's body.

He let her go and staggered back, somewhat shocked.

Mia reached back for her sister's hand and the girls connected, sparking like a pair of giant hot-wired cables. Together, they threw out two lightening bolts into Laine's chest and the big man flew out of the door, hit the wall, and landed on his ass. His chin dropped to his chest and he didn't move again.

_Pink Twins go zap, alright_, thought an allayed Xander. His solace quickly faded when they came around to face him. He knew Anya was next.

He put himself in front of her with his hands out, hoping he could somehow reason with them, and saw a sight that, a few weeks ago, would have scared the bejesus out of him. Now it was the most wonderful thing he could have wished for. Schlatnak arrived in the doorway.

The tall X-Files alien saw Laine – his jacket smoking. He saw the twins, who turned on him; their hands linked.

Schlatnak's hand moved faster than their lightening as he drew his phaser and shot Ella squarely in her breast.

Mia watched her sister fall, and she screamed – zapping him with both hands.

The security officer landed on Laine and finished up sitting beside him on the deck. With the last of his strength, he brought the weapon up one more time and shot Mia.

The twin collapsed and Schlatnak blacked out.

Xander himself was stunned for a moment; then he left Anya nestled in the corner and went to the alien, looking at his pistol. He recognised the stun setting on the phaser, so the twins were fine, but Laine and Schlatnak might have been hurt. He hit his badge and called for the medics.

Xander's tense muscles managed to relax just a bit. His boner was gone, which was nice.

He finally looked back to Anya. She was in the corner looking terrified, shocked, and appalled. Her cradled arm seemed to be hurt and swollen. "Are you okay?"

"Are _you_?" she returned accusingly.

The answer was no. He was most definitely not okay.


	12. Lost Souls

**Side note:** Just a reminder that, if you'd like to SEE the Phantom crew, images are embedded in the chapters of this story at Twisting the Hellmouth, including the Enterprise-F crew line-up.

* * *

-** Buffy Meets Star Trek 2**-

**_Phantom Days_**

- Lost Souls -

**12**

The USS Phantom, floating like a dead duck on a misty lake, seemed quiet and innocuous enough. But the outer peace gave no indication of her inner horrors.

* * *

In room 18, deck 2; section 2, in nothing but torchlight, Willow Rosenberg and Kimberly Clegg searched through the information on half a dozen tablet padds, large and small, as they tried to brainstorm a way out of the spirit-infested prison.

Willow was standing in their quarters; her nerves too wired to sit. "Can we beam the whole cloud into the brig?"

Kimberly looked up from her seat by the blank computer interface, now covered in data tablets. "Maybe. How big is it?" She swapped the large padd for a smaller one. "How compact can we go with it?" She started running calculations.

"If we can do that, the parafield should contain the spirits," said Will.

"And if it doesn't work out?"

The witch had already considered that. "I think Demon souls will be susceptible to the same kind of energies that destroy human brain function. Thought patterns are thought patterns."

"But we're not detecting any neural patterns out there," Clegg pointed out. "Even Baragnos the Mutilator had those."

"What about Spike?" offered Willow. "Doctor Crusher said he was just dead flesh with no brain function."

"That was a medical examination. PRD hasn't had a chance to look at him yet."

"Believe me, Kimberly, these Demons are tricky. We're just dealing with a different breed."

"Okay. You're the expert." Kim put down the padd and relented. "I trust you." Her own thoughts hovered over something Willow had just mentioned. Something she couldn't help but wonder about. "So, what's he like anyway? Vampire Spike?"

Will's sombre expression turned grim. "If you're lucky, you'll never know."

Kim nodded and went back to her padd. She still wondered.

"We need to go see the captain before this gets even worse," Will suggested after a time.

Clegg scooped up her data tablets. She was right. "C'mon."

* * *

"So far we've been unable to detect any Demonoid readings," said the elderly Commander Merran.

They were in the dungeon with the old woman and the captain, trying to explain their position.

"But your sensors aren't working properly in this cloud," noted Willow.

Merran argued; "It hasn't interfered with our bio-sensors up to now."

"That might be because they're not physical," said Will. "What do you guys call it? …Non-corporeal."

Captain Rayner spoke up for the first time since arriving; "Until Nog and Varik find a way to adjust our sensor arrays to compensate for the cloud's interference, I think it's safer not to trust them fully. Even bio-sensors. It's having a strange effect on many of our systems."

Varik was also there, and he had a question to put to the girls. "You have a plan to contain these 'spirits'?"

"We're working on a way to beam the entire thing into the brig," Clegg reported.

"The transporters will not be reliable enough to use on such a scale," stated the Vulcan. "And the cloud is too massive to contain within the Phantom. Nor would we be able to modify and extend our shields to encompass it."

"We were hoping to compact it…"

"The density is too great. It would require five vessels of this class to contain the entire cloud."

As his First Officer debated with the girls, Rayner took Merran aside. "You're sure about these Demonoid spirits?"

"I see no evidence," she acknowledged, "but they _have_ dealt with spirit possession before. Very recently. And quite effectively."

_Yes_, considered the captain. They had, hadn't they? Supposedly.

Varik was saying: "I am afraid containment may be impossible in this situation with our limited resources."

Rayner returned to address the PRD team. "Then find a way to neutralise or disrupt whatever's out there so we can break free and get on our way. You've got one hour. Dismissed."

* * *

Xander explained for the third time what had happened. The first time was to Anya, the second to the doctor, and this time in a statement to the new acting head of security.

The young black officer with the military buzz cut hadn't smirked, or smiled, or been anything other than professional as Xander had tried to describe the more... intimate events of his encounter with the possessed twins. He seemed more concerned with Laine's conduct towards Anya than anything. As he left their room, the officer suggested a visit to sickbay.

The door hissed shut and Xander turned to see Anya in a chair at the back, her face to the wall, expression distant, feet tucked up to her buttocks on the seat, one arm clutched around her knees, the other cradled in her lap.

An awkward moment of silence passed before Xander found enough will to speak up. "He has a point," he said, cringing at the words as they fell in the room. It felt like the twins had left a heavy static charge in the air. "We should probably go and get checked–"

"I'm fine."

Her reply had been delivered softly. But it failed to hide the coldness.

Xander sat back in his low bunk and made no other suggestions.

* * *

Captain Javen Rayner entered sickbay to check in on the effected crew and right away saw a bad sign.

Haim's bed had a new patient tucked in it, glaring up at the ceiling like a corpse.

It looked like the engineer hadn't made it after all. He'd been the first, which meant all the coma patients might be dead by tomorrow. Soon after, maybe everyone.

"He came around a few minutes ago," Doctor Singh explained from over his shoulder.

Rayner contained his relief. "How did you manage it?"

"I didn't. It happened naturally."

"And he's all right?"

"Medically he's sound. I've repaired the Intraparenchymal haemorrhage and, although he presents as lucid and cognisant, he retains no knowledge of what happened to him immediately prior to his stroke."

Laine was in the main bed, which held up well under his weight.

"What about Laine's victims?"

Galeia came over from the surgery room where nurses were rushing in and out. "Between the pair of them, we've got a crushed face and a smashed chest. Broken nose, cheek bones and jaw, broken ribs and bruised internal organs. Some minor internal bleeding."

"Both alive?"

"And stable. And, with a lot more work, both should make a full recovery." That said, he masked up and headed back to start his repairs.

That was a hell of a relief. Not just for him, but for the big guy too. Then he remembered the rape. "And Lieutenant Howell?"

"Under guard in her quarters with Nurse Mills," replied Singh. "She's not good."

* * *

"Well, Varik's right," Kim concluded from her seat in main PRD, "We can't contain it. I can't even get a simulation to process with so many theoretical variables."

Willow was sifting through computer mission records at another desk. "Then, I guess we'll have to find a way to neutralise it." That sounded far better than 'destroy' or 'kill'. "I found a few references to neural disruption fields," she mentioned.

Kimberly checked something on her screen. "Bridge scans still haven't turned up any neural patterns."

"If there was something alive out there it would have, right?"

"It _should_. But that goes for Demon life too." Clegg leaned back and took a few seconds to think. "What if, instead of thinking of it as a cloud of gas in space, we start thinking like it's something more…tangible."

"Like what?" asked Will, trying to see it another way.

"We're caught up in it… like a…" she reached for an image.

"Like a field of tangled weeds," finished the witch.

"Right." Kim sat up. "And what would you do to get out of a jungle of weeds?"

Willow sliced the air. "Machete."

The Phantom didn't have a machete. Phasers would be the closest thing, but… "Wait." She had something. "We could _burn_ it." She got up. "C'mon."

"Where?"

"We've gotta run this by Merran."

Willow followed her to the office. "Run what?"

* * *

Commander Varik exited the science lab on deck 2, which had the only working ion spectrometer onboard, and saw the corridor was empty. He stopped and held his head. The headache was at migraine level now and, he could admit to himself, it hurt. His headache levels were the least of his worries according to the data he'd just seen in the lab. Radiation levels onboard were just a few hours away from untreatable degrees. Fatal degrees.

He massaged his temples, then his eyes. This kind of pain was rare, especially among Vulcans his age. It certainly wasn't a general symptom of overexposure to ionising radiation. It was beginning to concern him deeply.

He heard footsteps, straightened up, and moved on.

Sickbay was just down the corridor…

* * *

The young Bajoran doctor – Galeia Yanek – completed his orbital scan of Varik's head and clipped the medical probe into his tricorder. The Vulcan was regarding him with an expression of… well… nothing really. "It'll be up in a second." He waved the tricorder. It beeped. "There it is." As he squinted at the small display, he caught Varik – one eyebrow up – peering to see the result. "Come on," said the doctor. "I'll get it up on one of the bigger monitors in my office."

Before the Commander could voice his agreement, his comm badge echoed with Rayner's voice.

"Varik. Rayner. Meet me in PRD asap."

The Vulcan stood. There was no need to respond. "I shall return later," he said to Galeia.

"Sure," said the doc, and went to find his next victim.

* * *

Rayner was back in the basement again and old arguments were resurfacing. "My only concern is the lack of any evidence that suggests the presence of Demonoid life to confirm this prison theory."

The main doors parted.

"Plus," said Anya, "you don't need a prison if you're sending them to hell anyway. It's…it's…"

"Illogical?" offered Varik as he entered.

"Exactly." She was starting to like these Vulcans.

"Demons aren't logical," Willow tried to explain. "They're not robots, like some people," she aimed at Anya.

"What of the cloud?" Varik asked. "How do you account for that?"

"Maybe they're trapped in the cloud," Willow guessed. "The cloud could _be_ the container."

"Maybe?" Rayner stepped away, rubbing at his neck, and turned back. "There seems to be a significant lack of certainty going on here."

"No kidding. I keep telling her that," Anya said with emphasis.

Rayner saw how the girl was holding onto her arm, supporting it. She was clearly injured. But, then, Laine had attacked her.

"You should get that looked at," Xander advised as gently as he could.

"I'm fine I said," she snapped.

"Consider it an order," said Rayner.

"I can manage."

"That wasn't optional. Go."

Anya's legs resisted, then finally bowed to the command and she left through the double doors. Xander followed after her.

Willow watched Anya go and recalled the argument they'd all once had about the genocide of Demons. She was opposed to genocide, no matter the species. She had even tried to convince Giles to tell Picard not to wipe them out. Had that been a mistake?

Giles had said that Picard wasn't a genocidal man. She didn't know Captain Picard all that well, but she didn't want to disrespect the faith he'd placed in her. Plus… what if she _was_ wrong about everything?

On the other hand… The lives of everyone onboard could depend on her now.

She told herself her doubt was normal. Buffy and Giles probably felt like this all the time. But what would the Slayer do? …Easy… She'd go kick some ass.

"I need a working proposal now," Rayner said when the doors closed themselves. "Before the entire crew goes into a coma."

Willow made peace with herself and accepted what she had to do. She put it to him this way: "We've got to destroy them before they figure out how to take over this ship and use us as permanent hosts."

"Our mission is to capture, not destroy," said Varik.

Clegg replied; "There's nothing to lock onto out there, and you said yourself we can't beam the cloud aboard. If we could make out individual brain-wave patterns… but we can't."

"Perhaps we can further adjust our working sensors?" he suggested.

"There's no time," insisted Willow. "Look what happened with Laine. Two of your people could have died! Xander and Anya…" She calmed herself. "We're at war. We have to fight back now if we're to survive."

Captain Rayner had been giving great consideration to exactly this kind of situation, and how he thought he would handle it. Chances were, if the Enterprise had destroyed all the Demons when they'd had the chance, this situation, and many more like it, may have been avoided. He thought about all those peaceful P'Jem monks back at Delta Vindi. How unnecessary had that been? Could he afford to be as morally naïve as Picard? Perhaps not. "What are our options in neutralising the cloud?"

Clegg jumped in like a bull; "If we send out an electromagnetic pulse to disrupt any neural energy patterns that might be present, then coat everything out there with an anionic beam–"

"It'll be like pouring gasoline over the whole thing," Willow quickly finished.

Clegg nodded. "Then we can fire phasers on a wide dispersal to burn away the cloud. That should take care of all our problems. It just requires a few modifications to the deflector array."

"What about the infected crewmembers?" the captain asked.

"Some of them are already coming around from their possession naturally," answered Willow. "The others should be freed when we destroy the prison – every one of the Demon minds is linked together by the cloud…it's like a big soul soup."

Rayner looked at his Vulcan number two… and nodded.

Varik still felt uncertain. "Then we mean to do this?"

"Unless anyone has a better theory?" said the captain. No one offered any. "Right. …Then let's get to it."

"It'll take a while to make the necessary modifications," explained Clegg. "Maybe twenty minutes."

"Fine." He walked out with Varik, taking Merran with him to the door. "I hope your people know what they're talking about."

So did she.

* * *

"Deck one, bridge," Rayner called as they boarded the turbolift outside PRD.

He still wasn't utterly clear about this whole scenario. He hated it, but he needed help now more than ever, and the only crewman he could share such a weakness with was in the lift with him. "Varik? Your thoughts?"

The Vulcan seemed troubled. "Without any evidence to either support or invalidate their hypothesis, I have none, Captain." He rubbed his temple. The pain was getting noticeably worse.

"But something's bothering you?"

"A feeling. Nothing I can substantiate."

"A _feeling_, Varik?"

"So to speak. Coupled with the lack of brain-wave patterns detected in the cloud…. Gives me cause to be uncertain of our intended course of action."

"Sounds like you're having a human gut-reaction."

"I think not, sir."

"Then what?"

"Merely… evidence that has not presented itself clearly enough to be interpreted at this time."

"Well, get it interpreted by the time they've finished modifying the deflector or we'll be sending out that anionic beam and torching the whole cloud regardless."

Varik tried to nod but it sent arrows of pain slicing through his eyeballs, burning across the back of his retinas.

"What the hell's wrong with you?" asked Rayner. "You have a headache or something?"

"Perhaps our presence in this cloud is effecting me."

Rayner didn't like seeing Varik this way. Varik was a machine. If it could effect him like this… no one was safe. "If this plan of theirs doesn't work, I want you to have the doctor take a look at you. Immediately."

He'd already tried that once, but he braced for impact and gave his nod.

Arrows followed. Hot fiery arrows.

* * *

The beds were full in sickbay, and it was a relief for Xander & Anya when one of the doctors could finally see them.

Doctor Galeia looked around at the madness and the coma victims. Lori Gunnlaugsdóttir had just recovered consciousness and was in a chair, giving them room for another comatose patient. She was groggy, foggy, and had no more clue as to what befell her than Haim had. As it turned out, Singh had been right. Sickbay had quickly overflowed into the cargo bay one deck below and they _did_ need a large team on staff. In fact, everyone was in. He owed Dr Singh an apology.

Now he had the civilian girl to fix up. He found her waiting in the hall with her boyfriend and called them in. He directed them over to chairs that were out of the way to one side of the room. Galeia dragged a trolley and a chair over and sat opposite his latest patient, glad to have one that was awake for a change.

Dr Galeia held a small silver flashing bullet over Anya's arm and read the results of its scan on his medical tricorder. "You had an injury repaired here recently?"

"This'll be her third time broken," said Xander.

"I don't need a translator," Anya told him.

Xander leaned back and out of the way.

"Well, this time it's just a fracture," Galeia reassured them, skirting the tension. "I can try overexposing it to the osteo-regenerator to give the bone a little more strength but you really should think about not running into anymore turbolift doors in future."

"I'll make it my prime directive," she promised.

Galeia smiled, picked out a flashy Ping-Pong bat gadget and waved it at her arm in slow steady passes. "Any news from the top deck?" he asked them.

"Half the crew's possessed," Anya reported, "your captain's barely keeping his cool, and Willow's off on her crusade. But it's not right… I keep wondering about these non…i…noni-tonic readings people are talking about."

Doctor Singh was close by. He turned and his moustache twitched. "Nonionic? Really?" He crossed to the coma patient in the main bed against the bank of computer screens and brought up their brain scan. He checked the lower E-band on the negative threshold.

Galeia saw what he was trying to find and remembered something else he'd seen, albeit briefly. He suggested bringing up Varik's brain scan and running the same check.

Xander and Anya watched as the younger Doc whistled in surprise.

"My god, look at the intensity of these waves of high frequency neurotransmissions he's receiving."

Singh was equally staggered. "His paracortex is on fire!"

When their surprise began to look more like dismay, Xander stepped in; "And that's really bad?"

Singh explained; "To put it into context; if there were any Betaziods onboard, they'd be dead from the psionic overload."

"There's none onboard?" he asked. "I thought they were on every ship?" They had been so far.

Galeia was scanning the patient now with his hand sensor. "I guess their abilities wouldn't be of much use seeing how they can't read Demonoid minds. This is a military mission. There's no tactical advantage."

"Some luck."

"But this Varik's telepathic?" said Anya. "And he's alright?"

Singh replied; "As a Vulcan, he is mostly a touch-telepath, requiring physical contact to transmit thoughts. His mind is not as susceptible to psionic input. Only because of this is he spared such a fate."

"So…what does all this mean?" Xander asked them. "In simple terms."

Galeia flicked his tricorder shut and tossed it aside. "We're being bombarded by thoughts – minds. Identities that are not onboard."

Xander's heart began to pump with adrenaline. "The possessions… The attacks… There _is_ something out there taking us over?"

Singh retrieved Galeia's tricorder and ran it over Lori's blank face. "I'm checking her neocortex for electropathic energies that aren't covered by our usual scans." Something beeped. "Here, look." He showed the results to the young Doctor. "There's an unknown energy reading that could be the residual of a psilosynine-like neurotransmitter."

Galeia checked for himself, which earned him a frown of annoyance from the older Doctor, then asked for a scientific tricorder. One of the patients had arrived with one in his personal items and Singh passed it over. It was still operating at 90%.

He raised the unit and checked the air. Within seconds he was getting the same odd energy pattern not normally picked up in a scan.

"The crew aren't being taken over," he told them. "It's more like radio interference. Picking up random clips of random shows that are being transmitted through the air. These readings show very strange, but definitely psionic, patterns. Something out there is communicating telepathically."

When Darkness had controlled with his mind it was not a psionic thing, both Anya and Xander were fairly certain of that much.

"And it must be this radio static that's giving Varik a migraine," noted Dr Singh.

Xander looked to Lori's sleeping body and back to the medics. "Then… whatever's out there… it's alive?"

Singh nodded. "Evidently so."

"Alive, and sentient," added Galeia.

That meant aware, didn't it? Intelligent.

Xander turned to Anya in realisation. She didn't look surprised at the news. Why would she be? He turned on his heels and raced out of the room.

* * *

Willow observed from the rear of the bridge as Commander Merran oversaw Clegg at the engineering console, imagining the plaudits she would receive if she managed to save the day. They were running out of time. No one was saying anything, but she'd looked into it herself and radiation levels were reaching increasingly dangerous heights. A few more hours in this haunted sea of mist and they'd all be permanently cooked.

"Were ready to initialise the deflector," Clegg reported to her captain. "Anionic beam control at your command, sir."

Rayner acknowledged and swung his chair. "Lieutenant Nog – prepare an EM burst. Put as much power into it as we can spare, please."

"Aye–"

The lights failed suddenly without warning, pitching the bridge into almost absolute dark.

Captain Rayner ground his teeth. Luckily, Nog had been expecting such a turn of events and the room was soon aglow with a Starfleet issue field lantern. He offered the Ferengi a tip of the head in thanks but his annoyance still showed. "All right. Can we put an end to this now?"

One of the rear doors slid open to the sound of heavy feet as Xander came tearing into the room. "Stop!"

The captain, already at the limits of his patience, shot up from his chair.

Willow thought the man might throw Xander out on his ass with his own hands. Her breathless friend saw her then. She had no idea what he was playing at. "Xander?"

"Don't do this, Will," he begged through gasps. "Whatever's out there, it's psychic." That wasn't right. "Er…telepathic."

"What are you talking about?" Rayner demanded.

"They're not Demons. I just came from medical. The docs put it together. This's for real."

"And what, exactly, is it that's 'for real'?" the captain returned.

"Man, I don't know." Xander had to support his hands on his knees as he fought to catch his breath. "Whatever it is, it's powerful enough to kill those Betazoid types. And it's effecting him." He pointed to the Vulcan.

Varik cocked a brow. _Effecting me? … The headaches… of course… telepathy._ "Captain…"

Rayner turned on them suddenly, wildly, an inferno in his eyes as he scrambled over his chair to reach Varik; "You try to murder us!"

Clegg was on the wrong side of her captain and she thrust a finger out to the acting security chief. "Stop him!"

Varik quickly countered; "Hold!" and the guard backed down as Rayner collided with his First Officer.

Varik grabbed the captain by the back of the head with one hand, and shoved the other onto his face – thumb to chin, index finger to cheek, middle finger to temple.

Rayner struggled against him.

"_Ease_ your mind!" he commanded. The captain froze. "…Ease…your…mind," he said again, softer. "Be restful. There is no danger. My mind to your mind, your thoughts to my thoughts." Rayner was calm now, relaxed even. Free of tension. Possibly for the first time in his career. "I wish you no harm. I am not your enemy. Open your thoughts to me..."

The captain gasped momentarily, trying to pull away, then settled once again, meeting the Vulcan's gaze.

"Who are you?" asked Varik.

"Family," answered Rayner, sounding far away in a dream.

"Explain."

"We are many."

"Do you have a name?"

"Do…not…understand."

"Where are you from?"

"The dark eye of the mother."

Xander remembered what Ella had said_. The dark eye of the mother is no longer within our reach._

"What is your purpose?" Varik continued.

"Purpose?"

"What do you _want_," he rephrased.

"To return. To increase our numbers. It is the time of the seeding."

This time Xander spoke up. "That's what the twins said! The time of the seeding. They wanna make babies."

Varik pushed on; "And where exactly are you at this moment?"

"We… are adrift on the sparkling sea."

They looked to each other. It was hard to say how much of his speech was metaphorical and how much was literal.

"I think he means space," offered Clegg.

"And why do you attack us and damage our vessel?"

"Your breath burns us. It breaks us apart. I can no longer hear my sisters and my brothers. I am alone. I am in pain."

Shared looks of uncertainty again.

"I believe, by breath, he is referring to our engine emissions," noted the Vulcan. "Possibly our energy output in general."

Willow was growing nervous, her body constricting itself inside a shroud of burning panic. She found herself moving away.

Varik repositioned his hand for a change of approach. "I am attempting to communicate through imagery," he informed the room. "I will interpret…"

Some quiet seconds passed, the captain blinking rarely and slowly like a child caught in awe, the Vulcan squinting and tilting his head as if listening for something hard to hear.

"I believe our presence is disrupting their protective cloud," he said finally. "The radiation we are generating may be the cause. The life forms are attempting to communicate with one and other, though we may be preventing their ability to do so." He looked across at the crew. "We are the cause of this. Our emissions are interfering with their group coherence. And, I believe, we are hurting them in the process. They are afraid of us. To them, the Phantom is an invading monster. A fierce giant with burning breath."

_Demons_, Willow's mind threw at her. _You're all Demons in a Demon cage…_

"Why don't they move away?" asked Clegg. If the ship was so scary and damaging, it seemed the natural move.

"They are unable to free themselves from the Phantom," Varik replied.

"We're flypaper," muttered Xander.

Rayner, still in the Vulcan's mind meld, let out a tired sigh. "You try to kill us with breath of fire."

"That is no longer our intention," Varik assured him. "We will now attempt to free you." With that, he helped the captain to clear his mind safely of the alien consciousness and released him.

Rayner passed over to his chair and steadied himself there. "What _was_ that?" he asked his number two.

"Thoughts, Captain," he clarified. "Feelings. The voices of an entire colony reaching out. As you may recall, Lieutenant Nog reported Nonionic readings before our systems failed. This would account for our inability to detect them clearly. As nonionic beings, their chemical composition would repel light and sensors. It is my belief that these life forms generate the cloud as a protection against the ionic radiation of space, and that they communicate chemically _through_ this cloud. The nonionic gas itself reacts badly with our systems, but by drawing it onboard through our engines, their attempts to communicate found a channel to us. As a result, we…have been intercepting their mail. Most of it scared, pained, and confused. Our minds have simply interpreted these messages in the best way they were able. We experienced their fear, their anger towards us, their desire to leave – to reach their destination and procreate before their mating cycle ended. They are trapped, Captain. To them, we are the beast that is killing them. If we remain here, our energy will weaken the cloud. They will be exposed to the EM-radiation of space… and die."

Captain Rayner sat down in the command seat and gave his armrest a slap."Take the warp core offline and shut down our propulsion systems. Purge the nacelles of all cloud. But do it gently."

Clegg nodded, returned to her chair and patched the order through to engineering.

It occurred to Rayner that this could have been cleared up much sooner if Varik had made contact before now. "Why is it you got headaches instead of thoughts?"

The answer was a matter of logic. "Their communication exists on a negative plane. My receiver is not directly compatible with their transmitter."

When Clegg reported the propulsion systems down, Rayner ordered a further shutdown of everything they could but life support. They had to reduce their energy output enough to unglue the cloud.

In a moment they were left lit once more by Lieutenant Nog's lantern. The bridge itself was dead – completely disconnected.

"Engineering to bridge," Commander Carver's voice cut in.

The current head of security returned through the door to Rayner's left and handed him a computer padd. The captain tapped his chest comm. "Rayner. Report."

"It's done, sir. Power output's as low as we can make it. I'm gonna try de-magnetising the hull – see it that helps break the cloud free."

"Acknowledged." He looked at the device in his hand, the largest portable tablet computer that Starfleet provided, and switched it on. "Commander Carver, you'll find an active interface unit present on the bridge. Please connect the feed from the forward viewer. I'd like to see what's happening out there." If anything was happening at all, that was.

"One second," replied the engineer as he patched it through.

As the 12-inch screen flickered to life and filled with the spot-lit image of fog, Rayner noticed a bridge-full of bodies crowding around behind his chair. He held the padd so they could see.

One person on the command deck didn't join them in the huddle. Willow.

She was holding onto herself, loathing the fact that she was praying they were wrong, just so she wouldn't be. Begging the Goddess for a possession, a Demon, a monster. Anything.

Why wasn't there a spell to freeze time?

She saw Kimberly, leaning to see over Nog's basketball of a head, suddenly squeezing his shoulder. "Look!" she announced.

Nog's hands came up to his face in fists of impending triumph. "Stars…" he cooed.

The cloud was clearing.

"Bridge." It was Carver again. "The last of the fog just passed us over. We're clear. I repeat, we are clear."

There followed a few low cheers as the computers and screens re-ignited with life.

Rayner handed the padd away and sank into his chair. The others went back to work.

"Bridge, this is sickbay." It was Singh. "Did something happen up there? I've got two dozen coma patients jumping out of their beds."

"Yes, Doctor. Something happened," answered the captain. "We're clear."

"Oh." The doc sounded surprised. "Well… that's nice to know."

"Captain!" Nog called across from ops. He was tracking the alien mist. "Look at this!"

He sent an image to the main screen and they watched as the whirlpool vortex of a black hole sun appeared.

"I believe this is their destination," said the Ferengi.

They were aiming for a black hole?

Varik looked up from the science position, intrigued. "The black eye of the mother. Nonionic life forms born in negative space. They must return to procreate." _Fascinating_.

The connotations alone were mind blowing. Life forms that could safely enter _and_ exit a gravitational field as massive as a black hole…

Carver arrived and went to the engineering station. "It'll take a while to get the engines going, but power's back to all systems."

Rayner nodded. _Well, thank the stars that's over with_. Still… what were these life forms that had almost been the end of them? He clicked his finger at Varik. "If we used phasers to charge the field with radon particles, is it possible to irradiate the life forms just enough to bring them into our visual spectrum?"

"Perhaps," he replied. "However, if they truly are nonionic beings, the radiation would likely kill them. Even at low-levels."

The captain gave his armrest a tap.

"I could use the deflector array to discharge a controlled anionic pulse," offered Clegg. "It wouldn't do any harm but it might just adhere to them long enough to make them visible."

Rayner turned to her, and then back. "Varik?"

"A reasonable hypothesis, Captain."

He _really_ wanted to see what they'd been wrestling with. "Do it."

Clegg set to work with Carver, modifying her previous settings, and fired the pulse.

A glow lit up in the distance as the cloud began to luminesce.

The captain waved a finger. "Nog – zoom in."

The image changed.

Captain Javen Rayner stood up from his chair and opened his mouth silently.

A mass of undulating bodies moved across the screen. Gelatinous sea-like creatures glowing red and blue with thick tendrils and fine skirt-like membranes that waved as they moved. A swarm of alien jellyfish in a dense ocean of light. Such a beautiful sight.

Nature held such beauty that no man, in all his art and invention, could recreate.

Sparks were flying between the creatures – like thoughts transmitting through the human brain. They were reaching out – finding each other.

"My God," the captain uttered in awe.

It was glorious.

And then, as quickly as they had appeared, they were gone. Life invisible to the human eye.

Captain Rayner turned to the back of the room. The awe was gone. "Well done, Rosenberg," he said, ripping the stupid pouch from around his neck. "You almost eradicated an entire colony of alien life forms."

Willow had to look away from him, and her eyes found Kimberly. Her roommate was looking to the carpet. In shame? Willow felt her face burning up and she wished only that the deck would turn to quicksand and drag her away into hell.

She realised she'd backed away when the door opened behind her. On hearing the door mechanism swoosh, Kimberly started to turn. Willow couldn't bear to be looked at, especially by her. She escaped before their eyes could meet.

Kimberly caught the back of her as she disappeared down the corridor and the door closed.

"It's going to be amazing studying these creatures in more detail," considered Nog.

"Not for us, it won't," interdicted the captain. "I'll inform Starfleet. and they can send a science vessel to study them if they choose. We have a mission to get back to, if it's not already too late."

Nog sat back in disappointment. Such a shame. It wouldn't matter if Starfleet wanted to study them or not. By the time a science vessel got out here, those things would be swallowed up in their hole. This might have been their only chance to observe their species.

* * *

The mood an hour later was much less triumphant, as Xander searched the ship for Willow. Their Klingon trail had decayed and now they flew aimlessly in the general direction of their last known heading. The day had been a serious fail. Willow no doubt had blamed herself entirely and gone into exile but the blame could not be one person's alone.

He walked into PRD and saw Commander Merran through her office window, but found no one else around the place. He was about to leave when the twins came in.

The three of them came to an awkward stop as they met.

"Xander…" Ella and Mia shared an embarrassed glance and tried to make words. "We…"

"Yeah…" He couldn't find a comfortable place to park his hands. "I guess you heard about… what happened when you…"

"Actually…" said Mia, "We remember," they revealed together.

"Oh." That was even more awkward. But none of the others remembered their possessions… "How?"

"Partially telepathic," they explained, indicating their mental connection. They seemed to struggle again to speak. "…We…"

"Look," he said, really wanting to get away and forget the whole thing. "Let's just…" he made a sweeping move as he laid a thin coat of plaster across the air between them, "skim over the entire bizarre incident and… just delete it. Huh?"

Their tension eased as he said that.

"Absolutely," Mia agreed.

"That would be great," added Ella.

"We weren't ourselves," they said.

"You really weren't. You had no control."

"We really didn't."

He nodded, glad to have that over with. Good talk.

"And…" they began in an understanding tone, "We're sure any other male would have had similar difficulty maintaining their own…control."

Xander's eyes popped open as he realised just how much they recalled. His face was heating up.

Mia tapped him across the arm. "Don't be too _hard_ on yourself."

Ella threw a hand over her mouth to contain a smile. Even though they'd both had the same innuendo pop into their heads, it still surprised when her sister actually delivered the line.

Xander squirmed before them. "Great. Well, …I'd better…"

He left. Quickly.

* * *

Willow wasn't in the mess hall either when he looked, and he moved on to check in at her room.

She still wasn't back when Kimberly answered the door to him.

"Still no sign of her?" he asked.

"Not so far," Clegg replied.

"I don't blame her, y'know. Captain looked ready to jettison her."

Kim nodded sadly. "Yeah."

Xander shifted uneasily. He knew Will was starting to really like Clegg – they were getting close. But the look on her face now… the word _disappointment_ didn't cover it. He knew Will would care what Clegg thought of her. He wanted to say something but he wasn't sure what.

"I think she just needed to save the day," he offered in the end.

She gave him a sympathetic nod. "I know."

After that, he returned to his room. Anya still wasn't speaking to him when he told her Will was in the wind. She shook her head at him and asked the computer for the location of Willow Rosenberg.

Right away the female voice replied. Willow was at the portside thruster assembly.

* * *

Captain Rayner was sat in his office adjacent to the bridge. Once out of sight, he had dropped into the chair and sagged back, letting his body relax for the first time since departing from Earth. What else could he do? The ship and crew were safe from harm and they were flying randomly though space on a heading to nowhere in particular. He could just see himself pulling into Spacedock with an empty brig saying: _'Well guys, we gave it our best shot.'_

As a last resort, they had sent out a call to all in-range outposts. If any one of them had seen anything it might be their only lead.

These Demons were proving to be more like ghosts.

_Phantom_, he was thinking. _Funny_.

Something not quite real – something you just can't get your hands on. They'd seen no sign of a single one of those supernatural creatures, even the trail was cold, and what they _had_ encountered had been made to substitute for their intended prize.

If those things were even any more real than the infamous Roswell alien or the Bigfoot.

He knew exactly where the fault lay. This Paranormal Research Department had them all seeing phantoms.

The voice of Commander Varik interrupted his ruminations.

"Captain. I am receiving a response from Starbase three-four-three."

Rayner stepped through onto the bridge. "What do they have?"

"Their long-range sensors briefly detected a Klingon fighter entering the Hromi Cluster. …Three days ago," the Vulcan reported. "It has yet to exit."

It was the best lead they had. "Take us there, Ensign."

Lori altered her heading and set them back on their hunt. "Course laid in, sir. Four hours to arrival, Captain."

_Four hours_, thought Javen Rayner. _Four hours, and then BAM!_ He would find out just how real these Demons were. He was just about ready to drag one of those things into the brig with his own damn hands.

* * *

Xander pulled himself up the ladders from the nacelle deck and onto the railed catwalk that ran the length of the portside thruster assembly. There he found Willow sitting with her legs and head through the railings. As he joined her on her perch, he saw she'd been crying.

"Hey, pumpkin," he said as she turned to him with waterlogged eyes.

She failed to contain a short titter of laughter at his greeting. It had been something he'd called her as kids, back when they first met and Xander thought her big red bob of hair looked like a plump pumpkin. She'd forgotten all about it and was surprised he hadn't.

Xander smiled. "I remember a little girl hiding out on a wall, trying to escape kindergarten, crying 'cos some fat bully had tripped her and scuffed her knee, too scared to jump 'cos of the three-foot drop to the sidewalk." He looked down through the railing at the long drop "I hope you're not getting any ideas."

"It was Brad something," Willow recalled, and sniffed back her tears. "He stole my candy bar."

Xander reached across to gently bring her head to his face and kissed her on her crown. "Don't let the caustic captain get you down. Guys like him need a scapegoat."

"I messed up, Xander."

He rubbed her back. "And we still live to save another day."

"When do I ever save the day?"

"We kicked the ass of Darkness or did you forget already?"

She scoffed. "Like that had anything to do with me. Sure, I had a few words with the Goddess… but she's the one who performed the spell. I was just the channel. In the end, it wasn't my magic that got the job done. It was Giles, …the Goddess, …Buffy …and _you_ who saved that day."

He shrugged it off. "So, I was in the right place with the right tool. I just pulled a trigger. I didn't invent the phaser. My God, Will, you channelled a Goddess – real Holy power. Think how powerful you could be as a witch."

"I can't be anything without my library," she conceded. "If I can't study Wicca, I'll never be more than a half-rate wannabe-witch."

"It's second-rate," said Xander.

She looked up at him, startled.

"It's second-rate, not half-rate," he corrected. "And you'll never be second-rate."

"I came _this_ close to genocide, Xander."

"I know."

"You know what they used to call witches that turned to the dark side? …Angeli Della Morte – the Angels of Death." She gave a heavy broken sigh. "I am become death… I'm no better than Hitler."

"Er… Okay, I think you might be putting a little bit too much egg in the pudding there, Will. You screwed up. Sure. Can't deny that. But… this wasn't a Demon thing. It wasn't ghosts or vampires or zombies. It was science stuff – future alien science stuff. That's not exactly our field of expertise. It doesn't make you a second-rate witch. Just a second-rate Starfleet officer – and, hey, join the club. I blame these space-heads for not catching it sooner."

She looked to him again and Xander could see that she was glad to have him there at that moment. "We just have to get used to the fact that there are more things out there than Human and Demon," he said, putting an arm around her shoulder and giving her a supportive hug. "I know you feel like you can't face people right now, but no one's waiting back there to burn you at the stake." He gave her a squeeze. "Whaddaya say?"

"I'm…not ready to go back yet. I just need another minute."

"That's cool. I can hang out."

"You don't have to stay with me."

He held her hand and rested his head on hers. "Yeah I do."

They sat together for the next hour, dangling their legs over the catwalk, just like a pair of kindergarten kids they remembered who had shared a wall so many years ago.

* * *

**Space, 2418 AD:**

Ten-Forward on the Enterprise-F was at its mid-morning rush hour peak as the night shifts clocked off. Her long wall-to-ceiling windows were now almost eclipsed by the milling and gathering of crewmen; the only sense of movement now blocked from view.

Captain Willow Rosenberg, the very embodiment of calm, thoughtful authority – a shining example of wisdom and maturity for all those under her command – sat at one of the tables with two members of her crew, shaking her head at her younger self with a faint smile wrinkling her lips.

"Wow. You really made a mistake," voiced Leonid Korotkin, struggling to see his captain in such a light.

"Oh, yes," said Willow. "A big one. But, you know what? I think I needed it."

"You _needed it_, ma'am?" Crius puzzled. Who the hell needed failure?

"We were revered," she answered. "We were rock stars. For the first time we were famous and important. That kind of popularity and attention can go to your head rather quickly. You think it'll be easy to keep your feet on the ground but, before you know it, you find yourself ten feet in the air. It's a dangerous state to get yourself into because, when enough people see you as a superhero, you start to believe it."

"What did you do after that?"

"What else could I do? I found the ground and planted my feet firmly on it. The worst part for me back then… was having new friends see me for what I really was."

Leonid had a good idea who she meant. "And… you and Clegg…?"

Out the corner of her eye, Willow saw a junior officer enter the hall and scan his eyes around the room. He saw her, locked on, and headed over. "Oh, I had a crush on her," she admitted, "but she wasn't that way inclined. As I was realising: You can't win them all."

The young man, a Kiwi named Matty if she recalled, arrived at her side, gave a nod and stood to attention.

"Captain, message coming in for you from Starfleet HQ."

She smiled to herself. All those years ago she thought she'd needed _superpowers_ to gain respect. "I'll come and take it in my readyroom." As she stood and pulled her tunic down through her belt, she saw the disappointment on the faces of Crius and Korotkin. They were really into this firsthand history lesson. She supposed it might be like listening to an old jazz player talking about their memories of the Rat Pack and Vegas in it's heyday if you were into that sort of thing. There was so much more she could tell them. And they did have to get back to bridge duty, after all. "Walk with me," she said.

They jumped up, eager for more tales from darker times, and clung to her heels as she led them away.

Before they reached the nearest turbolift they were zooming away across the stars in search of Demons and a rogue Klingon fighter.


	13. Phantom Days: Hotel California

_-__** Buffy Meets Star Trek 2**__-_

**_Phantom Days_ **

- Hotel California -

**13**

The Hromi Cluster was no more than thirty minutes ahead when the Phantom picked up their target's energy trail. It led them directly toward an M-class planet designated Lambda Hromi III. Just as Starbase 343 had reported, there was no trail departing Lambda Hromi III – only the one arriving. It meant, after all their hunting and side-tracking, that the crew of the Phantom might finally get their hands onto something Demonoid.

Lt Cmdr Laine was eager to put some bodies in the Dungeon's brig. From his tactical post at the rear of the Phantom's bridge, Laine's view of the command centre gave him a kind of lofty omniscience. He imagined himself an all-seeing guardian towering above his seated crewmates observing the mood of the room. There was a severity of anticipation that seemed to have dragged them all to funereal depths of seriousness. It was the quietest bridge he'd seen on any starship.

The captain was closed off and grim-featured. The Vulcan was as stoic as any of his kind. The younger ones had neither the confidence nor experience to relax and let a little personality show, especially with Mr Stern-faced Grumble-chops intimidating them from his command chair with his mere presence. Normally Laine would be the first to try and lift the mood; to set off an exchange of jokes, gossip and anecdotes, but his recent folly in The Traveller's Stronghold and his possessed attack on the crew had dented his own confidence and his ego had gone on vacation without him. This left him hovering in the background like an obedient minder, or a guard-dog with a painfully tight muzzle.

Surreptitiously, and quite literally behind Captain Rayner's back, Laine dabbed a touch-button on his console and brought up a communications window. He located Clegg on his internal sensors and linked his comm window to her workstation in PRD. He typed out a text message and zapped it down to the basement deck.

_How's life down in the Dungeon? It's like a Vulcan funeral home up here._

After a few seconds came her reply:

_It's all fun times at this end, big guy. We're meant to be having some kind of nature meditation session if Willow ever comes out of hiding but right now I'm trying to reinvent the phaser. She had this crazy idea about a magical Demon stun gun._

Laine's mouth curled up in a half-smile even as his eyebrows aimed more for slightly puzzled. It sounded like an interesting sort of job. He wrote:

_Any chance of a transfer?_

* * *

Lt Kimberly Clegg gave her screen a beaming grin and typed back:

_Depends. Are you in tune with Ghia?_

There was a pause at the other end before Laine returned:

_That one of the ensigns? _

Clegg let out a loud snort of laughter. Before she could answer, the security chief added:

_Gotta go. Looks like we're almost there. Have fun with your weapons project._

The comm window closed and she leaned back, still smiling, and examined the blueprint she was designing. Willow had a wild notion about infusing a magic crystal with something called 'deslavo' energy. Apparently, it was the same energy she'd seen Willow throwing around in the Traveller's Stronghold. If Kimberly could design a phaser around this crystal, and if they could come up with a trigger mechanism, they would have themselves a working Demon stunner. Because, right now, their phasers were only effective on _kill_ or _vaporise_, which made capture a bit of a problem, being the primary goal of their mission, and the Phantom had a lot more brig space than morgue space.

The main doors swept apart and her eyes met with Willow's.

They scrutinised each other in silence for a long moment. Willow's tense and tormented eyes said it all.

"You don't have to tell me," sighed the young witch gravely as she took an apprehensive step into the Dungeon. "I've already told myself over and over a thousand times and I know that doesn't change anything or make it right or make the truth any less…true than it was before and I'm not making any excuses, there aren't any, I know. I didn't think, I didn't look at the facts, I wasn't objective enough, I was completely fixated on my own desires – totally centred on my own little ego-trip – a…a despicable display of…of self-glorification to the exclusion of all external logic – _arrogant_. Really…really arrogant. And…I screwed up. I screwed up big time. I just… I don't know how…or what I can do to make things…I don't know… better?" She took in a short breath and winced. "I should be scathed. I deserve a good scathing. It won't be any worse than what I've already said to myself."

Kimberly turned away, snagged the next chair along, and swung it across the floor for Willow.

"I bet you didn't tell yourself this," said Clegg in her common British dialect. "…Let it go." She eased forward to rest her arms on her legs as Willow hesitantly allowed herself the comfort of the seat facing her. "We all got to where we are on the back of our mistakes, Willow. If I told you some of _my_ prize cock-ups… there's been some beauties, believe that!"

Bashfully, Willow looked across into Kimberly's eyes; grateful not to see the hurt or bitterness she expected to find there. "When we first got here… people were afraid of us. Maybe it was better that way. Maybe that's how it should be. You can't imagine what it's like having people look at you like you're some kind of living God, or, or, or a real life superhero."

"No," agreed Clegg, "but I know what it's like to look at someone like they're a real life living-God superhero."

She meant _her_? That amazed Will a little bit, and flattered her enough that a coy smile teased the corner of her lips. "The trouble is, you start to believe it yourself. I'm understanding now how movie stars and pop idols become so detached from reality."

"If people treat you like you're a superior being you start to act like one," Kimberly noted. "Just look at the captain."

"Ha. …My point is… what I'm trying to say is… I'm sorry. I was trying so hard to impress you and to live up to my big new reputation… I lost track of myself."

"And I was blinded by that same reputation. I was acting like a groupie."

This time a real smile crossed Willow lips. "A Scooby groupie doo."

"Ay?"

"…Nothing. Pop culture reference. I guess I need to update those."

"Anyway. _My_ point is… I forgot you were just human too."

Willow let out a massive sigh of relief. So certain that Kim would be angry, she'd been too afraid to face her since fleeing the bridge. As it turned out, Kimberly had her back. Just like a true friend. "So, I'll just be a human from now on," Willow resolved.

"And I'll just be your friend," settled Clegg.

Will shared a beaming smile with Kim and then gave a shy little shrug. "You could still be my groupie."

Clegg's reply was a cute lopsided smile and she signalled for Willow to pull her chair up to the console beside her. "So… I heard you were taking Starfleet 101."

"Yeah," she said, surprised. "Counselor Troi made a start with us but we only managed one class before Baragnos the Mutilator and his zappy friend came along and mutilated our curriculum. It's pretty obvious now how much we need it. I mean… how much _I_ need it."

Kim tapped away at her computer interface and launched a screen brimming with bright primary colours and stumpy cartoon aliens.

'_Hello, children'_, said the blue animated character, _'I'm Andy the Andorian. Are you ready to join me on an interplanetary adventure?'_

Willow shook her head and turned to Clegg with an amused but doubtful look. "Pre-school TV? Really?"

"Don't knock it," said a playful Clegg. "I grew up with this!" Will didn't look convinced. "Trust me, if you want to learn about my universe, this is the place to start. …And the theme tune is _really_ catchy." She danced in her seat. "Wait till you get to Klappy the Klingon. He's so cute."

Willow caved in and gave Andy the Andorian her full attention.

Clegg went back to her phaser design. "People shouldn't be afraid of you, Willow," she attested, going back to her earlier statement. Then, as an after-thought: "Only nonionic space jellies."

"Uh…thanks."

* * *

The starship Phantom passed across the border of the Hromi Cluster, a dense collection of stars and planets, many of which were M-class, many of which unexplored, and cruised silently towards a small sun that had circling it the dull red planet of Lambda Hromi III.

* * *

"Put us in orbit, Ensign," instructed Rayner from his captain's chair.

Lori Gunnlaugsdóttir acknowledged and pulled the ship into high orbit above the dead-looking planet.

Rayner turned to the hulking security chief. "Laine?"

His scan had already run and the results were just coming in. He ground his teeth and snarled in success. "It's the Klingon fighter _BraH_, sir. It's down there. We're getting the transponder signal loud and clear." He looked triumphantly to his commander. "One Demonoid life-form reading." …_We've got one!_

"Can you identify it?"

Laine looked over his screens. "Not from these readings, Captain."

The old Bajoran lady, Cmdr Merran Araya, turned in her seat at the Paranormal Research station. "There's no telling what came through from the Demon realm, Captain Rayner. I advise caution."

He nodded back in irritation. "Commander," he said to Merran, "join me please." He headed off the bridge. "Laine. Fall in."

The security chief let the old Bajoran out and went after them. He guessed the order for an away-mission was on the tip of his captain's tongue.

* * *

'_Welcome to the Milky Way galaxy!' _said an enthused cartoon Andorian._ 'Today, let's start by looking at the Alpha Quadrant. You see, children, our Milky Way galaxy is like a big tasty sponge cake full of amazing treats. Let's cut the cake into four equal parts – called quadrants. Alpha, Beta, Gamma, and Delta. Just like our galaxy! Let's explore the key planets of the Alpha Quadrant, shall we? Planets like Delta, Betazed, Bajor, and Ferenginar…'_

Willow paused the video. "And Earth, that's in the Alpha quadrant, right?"

"Yes and no," answered Clegg. "There's a rhyme we learn at school: Earth rests on the equator between the quadrants Alpha and Beta. The galactic meridian runs right through the centre of the Sol system so, half of the time we're in the Beta Quadrant, but for classification purposes, yeah, we're in the Alpha Quadrant."

A whole bunch of bodies came through the main doors and Clegg straightened up when she saw Rayner was among them. Merran and Laine were with him. Xander and a second security officer too – The African-American guy who'd covered as chief when Laine and Schlatnak were hospitalised.

"Get your team ready, Commander," said the captain. "I want you down there in two minutes."

The old PRD head signalled for Clegg and Willow and they followed her to the storage lockers.

"The captain has asked that I lead an away-team to the surface to scout the situation," Merran said to Clegg, Willow and Xander. "The three of you will be joining us. We're leaving now so, quickly, gather your equipment together."

Kim and Will collected a tricorder each, and the PRD handsets – though their database was limited – and slipped them into their uniform holsters. Xander went straight for the only tool he expected they would need – a good old phaser pistol.

They gathered together again in the main room where their security chaperone waited.

The captain tapped his badge. "Nog. Rayner. Send landing co-ordinates to PRD."

"Aye, sir."

"What are we dressing for?" asked Clegg. "Hot? Cold?"

"Nog?" Rayner called out.

The Ferengi replied over the comm, "Sensors registering fine weather, Lieutenant. Sunshine and clear skies."

Rayner nodded to Merran and she began leading them through the Dungeon to the starboard side corridor.

"Keep a channel open to the ship, Commander."

Xander hesitated and flicked a thumb to the main doors. "Isn't the shuttle this way?"

"Transporter's this way," indicated Laine.

"Transporter?" Xander's face flushed with panic before their eyes. "I don't really–"

"You beam down or you sit down, Harris," the captain barked with a temper. "But if you sit down now it'll be the last thing you do on my ship because it would mean your being here is pointless."

Xander's fear turned to a humiliated blush. His eyes dropped to the carpet and he said nothing as he turned to join the others.

As the away-team made their way out again, Rayner saw something else that annoyed him. "Laine…" He indicated to Xander's holstered weapon.

Xander recoiled as the big man suddenly pulled away his phaser pistol as he passed.

"Sorry, pal. You're not cleared to carry a sidearm."

"But…I have some security experience." He looked to Rayner. "I've had weapons training. Captain Freeman–"

"Is the Captain of the _Rutherford_, if I'm not mistaken," Rayner cut in sharply. "Is this the Rutherford, Harris?"

Xander, feeling more angry now than embarrassed, conquered the urge to reply 'No, sir' before entertaining the urge to bitch-slap the man.

"You take the transporter to the surface, or the shuttle back to Earth," Rayner offered.

Xander understood from his tone that he wasn't really offering him a choice.

An uncomfortable moment passed before the group began to move off again.

As they went, Captain Rayner had a last word to say. "And one more thing, Rosenberg. I don't want you performing any of your 'magic' without my express permission. Is that understood?" He didn't wait for an answer. It wasn't a question. "I'll be on the bridge."

* * *

Mia Taro was already in the transporter room when they entered, and there was no sign of her sister.

Laine and his security sidekick followed Cmdr Merran straight onto the platform, but Willow held Kimberly back.

She unzipped her jacket a little and Kim could see she was wearing one of her pouches. Willow removed a second one and quietly handed it to her. "I know how the captain feels about these but… I want you to have this. Just in case."

Clegg smiled at the thoughtful gesture. "You _really_ believe I'll be safer with it?"

"I really do."

Without further question, she slipped the small bag into her own jacket and moved onto the transporter pad.

Xander stopped at the controls where Mia was programming in their landing co-ordinates. He'd never seen the twins apart before. It raised an interesting question. "Are you…okay without your sister? You…don't feel like half a person?"

She gave him a grin and, for the first time, he noticed that, instead of teeth, she had a similar kind of fibrous membrane as a humpback whale. "She's close," she told him. "I can feel her."

"Xander, come on," Clegg called from the platform. "It's time to bag a Demon."

He gave Mia a daunted glance. "One ticket for the death train."

As he joined them on the pad, Clegg put one hand over her brow and prepared for the glare of a blazing sun.

Xander, stomach knotted, held onto himself. He had this horrible feeling that the breaking down of his molecules would kill him, and that only a copy would appear at the other side. If not two.

"Good luck, guys," said Mia, "Call if you need anything." With that, she ran her pink frog-like fingers up the controls and sent them streaming through space.

* * *

The away-team materialised in the middle of a pitch-black downpour.

Willow squealed at the shock of the rain – hammering into them like nails.

The sudden rush of ice cold water took Clegg's breath. She hunched up as it drenched her hair and pooled around her neckline.

The team's disorientation was brief as the icy wet quickly got too much to bear. Will, Xander and Clegg tore off their jacket tops and held them over their heads. A small pouch fell from Kimberly's uniform and went unnoticed as it hit the ground and rolled away.

The sound of the rain on their makeshift umbrellas was astounding.

"My God," cried Clegg. "It's worse than hail stones!"

"Where are we?" Willow yelled out. It was the blackest night she'd ever seen and no sign of life presented before them. At her feet she saw only the dust of an alien desert. For all she could tell, they were in the wilderness of Nevada on a bad night.

"Can anyone see any cover?" Merran called as loud as her soft voice could manage.

Laine opened his jacket and held one side over the old woman's head to protect her from the onslaught of freezing rainwater.

Clegg saw nothing but black and the needles of rain. There was no light and no moon. She could only barely make out the rest of the team. And now the water was beginning to seep through the fabric of her uniform jacket and onto her head and shoulders.

The sky lit up with a flash and the crack of thunder.

"We've gotta get out of this," shouted Laine.

Clegg slapped her chest. "Phantom!" Nothing. Not even a beep. She hit it again. "Phantom, come in!" Her communicator didn't even register the input. "I'm getting nothing."

Another flash and a shocking rumble above their heads.

"There!" – It was Xander. He ran with one hand propping up his drenched umbrella-coat and pointed them to their left.

They saw nothing until the next lightening flash. And then, even when the lightening had passed, the lights in the distance remained.

About 200 metres away, windows were lit up with the glow of a hundred electrical bulbs.

A building.

Against the power of the driving rain, they didn't attempt to question the sight of a structure on this dead planet. The security men drew their pistols and the away-team ran frantically through puddles that soaked their feet to reach their only chance for cover.

It seemed to take a ridiculously long time to reach the structure and, as they approached hurriedly, they caught a glimpse of a rising central tower and domed caps across the roof. They passed three enormous palm trees and reached a double door set in the earthy pastel walls of the building, which were partly overgrown with climbing vegetation all along the expanse of the façade. Laine grabbed the gold handlebars of two glass doors and almost tore them off their hinges.

The team piled inside, soaked and shaking with cold.

Cmdr Merran looked considerably less composed with her elegant white hair a soggy mess around her face. The others were in much the same state except Laine who brushed the water off his stubbled head with one large hand.

Clegg wrung out her jacket and threw it over a nearby wooden counter.

"Clear skies and sunshine my ass," moaned Xander, throwing his jacket over an orange chair.

"Nog!" Laine erupted. "I'm gonna kill that little Ferengi."

"Somehow I don't think the captain's the kind of guy who'd allow pranks like that," noted his security man.

"I don't know," said Xander. "He might make an exception for us."

Cmdr Merran wasn't impressed. "Come along now, that's enough."

Laine saw Kimberly scanning their surroundings with her tricorder. "What are you reading, Clegg?"

"Nothing. My tricorder's all over the place."

Xander, now in just his black shirt and grey pants, felt his body up and down and gave his nose a tweak until satisfied he'd arrived intact. A little voice in the back of his mind asked the question: _Are you real? Or just a copy?_

He pushed the thought aside, took a second to catch his breath and looked around.

The lighting was dull with just a few wall-mounted lamps giving off a subtle orange glow and the sight sent a shiver right down the centre of his back when he saw it.

They were in the reception area of a luxury hotel. It was old and strangely unwelcoming. A decorative reception desk was flanked by a rich curving staircase that led up into darkness. The desk and tables were dark wood, the floor a blood red carpet and the walls were beige with an old-fashioned pattern of circles in gold. The chairs were of an orange and brown fabric that looked like it came from the seventies. A sinister feeling struck him and he had to turn away. He found the glass doors that led back out. The view outside was just black and torrential. He had a bad feeling…

He walked across quietly to test the door as the others tried to make sense of their situation.

The old lady spoke up first. "What is this place?"

"This portal to the Demon dimension," Clegg asked Will, "is it even possible that an entire building came through?"

Willow struggled with the idea. "That just doesn't make any sense."

"It's funny," Xander addressed them, turning from the door. "But, …I've had a picture of a place like this in my head for as long as I can remember."

Laine looked mystified. "What? How?"

"It's in a song," he replied uneasily. "By the Eagles." He looked around and wasn't surprised to see the paintings. Horrible oil paintings, dark and sickly; some of hagged faces, some too abstract to make sense of. "Welcome to the Hotel California, people," he uttered. "You can check out anytime you like…" He tried the door again so they could see for themselves. It was locked.

"But you can never leave," finished Will.

"Yeah. But those aren't the lyrics I'm worried about."

Laine's confusion was growing. "What are you guys talking about?"

Willow could see what Xander was getting at. It was probably the most memorable line of the song. Certainly for her. "They stab it with their steely knives…"

Xander moved closer. "But they just can't kill the beast."

"Beast?" The other security officer looked between them with a hint of panic. "There's a beast?"

Laine shook his head and went to the doors. With a mighty tug, he pulled on the handles and tore them clean off the glass. He stepped back in surprise. There seemed to be nothing attaching them to the glass and the outer handles were still in place. He dropped one of them and told the others to stand clear as he covered his face and whipped the other across the glass door. There was a loud thump and the gold handle bounced off the door, sending a painful shockwave through the big man's arm.

Damien King, security lieutenant, already on edge at the mention of a 'beast', was now feeling the onset of a deep-seated fear. The rain – drowning. Trapped – the beast hiding somewhere beyond perception. His forehead was wet again and he rubbed it. "What's going on?"

Laine put his hand on the glass of the entrance. It was ice cold and no more than half a centimetre thick. It was no plexiglass, nor safety glass. It was an old single-glazed pane of brittle glass. It should have shattered easily.

King's voice rang in his ear, _What's going on?_

Laine sighed. "Something bad."

* * *

"What do you mean _vanished?_" Captain Rayner shot across to Nog at ops.

The Ferengi wasn't sure how else to put it. "I don't know, sir, they just…"

"Was it the transporter?" They couldn't possibly have had another transporter accident so soon after the one that trapped Rosenberg and Harris here.

"The logs indicate rematerialisation occurred successfully," Varik reported calmly. "The instant the annular confinement beam released them they simply… disappeared."

"Things don't disappear, Varik. _People_ don't disappear." Rayner crossed the room aimlessly, frustrated yet again.

Varik went unfazed as he corrected himself. "They ceased to appear on our instruments."

"Atmospherics?"

"The skies are clear for miles, Captain," said Nog. "And visual scans show no sign of activity around the landing site."

"Energy readings? A secondary transporter beam? Are we being jammed?"

"There are no artificial energy patterns of any kind," said the Vulcan.

"Check again." There had to be something. If these Demons could do things that defied logic and were undetectable then how could they possibly manage any kind of operation against them? How could they even generate theories when the possibilities were unimaginable? Then he remembered there was another transporter on the planet. "What about the fighter?"

Nog looked into it and his face contorted into a Ferengi grimace. "Captain… the Klingon shuttle no longer appears on our sensors. And the Demonoid reading has–"

"Yes," said Rayner. "I know. Disappeared."

* * *

Lieutenant Damien King is 4 years old. His mom and dad teach at a primary school on Singapore Island, their home a modest apartment in a downtown high-rise.

At night, when the lights go out, Damien King hears noises. Sounds from other apartments roll into his bedroom – voices from below, a video broadcast from the side, and heavy footsteps from above that sound so much like they're in his room and heading right for his bed. He pulls the covers over his head and closes his eyes.

Lt Damien King is 9 years old, on a school camping trip in the foothills of the Canadian Rockies. It's a dark night lit by a small campfire. He's shivering in the warm air as he listens to Teddy Friedkin telling the horror story of a beast that stalks its prey in the dead of night – a monster in the shadows that takes children from their beds, eats them alive, and spits out their crushed bones. He doesn't sleep that night.

It's the day after and Damien King is rafting down the Kicking Horse rapids with his class, bombarded by heavy rain and river spray, when the dingy jerks awkwardly and sends him spinning over the side and into the water.

Even with his life vest, just for an instant, he is submerged, the drag of the rapid waters like the hands of the beast pulling him to the dark depths. He thrashes against the water to find the surface and when he breaks through, gasping for air, the heavy rain fills his mouth and chokes him. He feels the beast take hold of his vest and strong arms pluck him from the water and into the raft. The beast is just his teacher.

It's 2 years before he can sleep with the lights out.

Lt Damien King is 22 years old and has just graduated from Starfleet Academy. His father would have preferred he became a teacher or a doctor but his mother is very proud. That night he celebrates with his parents, his sister and her 2 children. His niece presents him with a homemade plaque that celebrates famous astronauts – Yuri Gagarin, Neil Armstrong, Buzz Aldrin, Zefram Cochrane, and _Damien King_.

He promises to keep her gift with him wherever he goes. He never breaks his promise.

Lt Damien King is 31 years old, security officer on the USS Phantom, on an away mission to the planet Lambda Hromi III, in a strange hotel on a dark desert highway in a terrible rainstorm…

"King?" It was Laine. "You alright, buddy?"

Damien turned from the glass door where the night was inky black and the lights of the hotel reflected off the long blades of falling rain, and looked straight through his chief.

Thunder cracked outside.

The wall lamps flickered.

Lightening flashed and the lights went out.

There was an awful quiet filled with the raging of the storm water beyond the doors.

Damien King was soaked with rain and sweat, shivering in his damp clothes when the next rumble exploded in the sky above and sheet lightening strobe-lit the reception room.

In the flashes of electric blue light, Damien saw the darkness at the end of the long corridor beyond Laine.

And that's when he felt it.

Another flash and the dark shadow at the end of that hall heaved forward.

The blackness returned.

Part of him understood it was impossible but every fibre of his skin, his instinct, his fear, revealed the truth to him.

It was here. The beast was real and it was in the hotel with them!

A thunderclap shook him and vibrated through his heart and muscles and the lightening revealed the corridor was now hidden by a dark mass.

And then Damien King gasped in shock as, in the instant between flashes, Commander Merran was engulfed by the shadow.

Damien's reaction sent him tumbling back over a chair and into the carpet.

The lamps came on and the reception filled with that subtle orange glow.

Damien King couldn't help the scream that raced out from his throat.

There it was – standing right between Rosenberg and Harris. A huge beast that towered greater than Laine – a dark mass of fur, claws and teeth. Mouths and mouths and mouths for eating children and crunching bone. It was monstrous. He cried out again and flung himself back across the floor.

The others heard the crash and his cry and spun around to see King scramble back across the blood red carpet until he hit the reception desk. His phaser was out and aimed before they knew what was happening. Aimed right at Commander Merran.

A river of sweat poured down Damien's face, filling his mouth, and he sputtered and choked as the monster crept forward to devour him.

He aimed at the beast and reset his weapon – he knew he had to kill it.

Willow slowly saw beyond her own disorientation when she realised what was unfolding before her. "Hey…"

Xander's heart began to race as the reality of this surreal turn of events intensified. "Dude, what are you doing?"

Merran was standing in the line of the officer's weapon. The surprise on her face was unbelievable. "Stand down, Lieutenant," she croaked, her voice shaking.

"Drop the weapon!" ordered Laine. He wasn't listening. "King!"

Laine knew what was going to happen. He could see it in the man's eyes. He ran toward the path of the phaser but was too late – the beam shot across the room and cut a burning trail into Merran's chest. She screamed once, briefly, then vanished.

The room froze like some horrific pause button had been pressed on life.

"I got it," muttered King in surprise and a kind of relief that bordered on hysterics. "I got it."

"King?" Laine turned his holster away from the man's line of sight and eased his phaser out.

"We're safe," said King. "We're safe now. I got it. I got it. It's dead. …I got it."

"King… Put down your weapon."

"My wea–?" He saw the phaser in his hand. "Oh, no, it's alright. I got it, Laine. I got the beast!" He set the phaser down on the floor. "… Where… where's Commander Merran?"

Xander took a step to cover Willow. "Is he serious?"

"Yeah, I think so," Clegg returned.

"What?" King looked over their faces in puzzlement. "What is it?"

Xander, nerves shot to hell, softly replied; "You… You just killed her, man."

The officer's face knotted. "I? …No. No, no, I killed the beast. The _beast_!"

The guy had gone nuts.

Laine made a sudden move for the phaser and King snatched it up.

The group jumped back.

"Don't do anything else crazy, pal, okay?" Laine backed off with his hands up and his pistol aimed at the ceiling. "There's no reason to hurt anybody else here."

King shook his head at them in frustration, confusion, and with a new fear. "It was the beast, it was here. That's what I killed. You saw it. You had to see it."

"There was no beast, Lieutenant," said Clegg. "There's just us."

"And Merran. She's here somewhere…" he paused, looking behind them for some sign of her in the shadows of the corridor.

_Unbelievable_. "You _shot_ Merran, King!" Laine snapped. "In the chest! You smoked her. She's gone." He yawped at the man in utter bewilderment of his sudden slide into insanity. "What _happened_?"

The security officer looked at the pistol in his hand for long seconds. "I killed Commander Merran?"

"Yes, Lieutenant. Yes you did."

King was shaking now. "And there was no beast here?"

"No."

He began to laugh to himself. It was a sad laugh that soon morphed into the weeping of a scared little boy.

"What happened to you, King?"

"Drowning…" he mumbled. "Drowning in a river in the rain… Trapped with the beast…in a river in the rain…" He put the barrel end of his weapon under his chin.

"King, NO!"

The phaser discharged and the man was gone.

The weapon fell to the carpet with a thump.

Xander blinked and turned.

He saw Clegg wheel away, pushing her hands over her face and through her hair. Willow was right up against him now and he put an arm around her.

Laine was frozen in place.

Two of their team were dead.

Lt Cmdr Laine stood locked and rattled. He was the head of security. He was responsible for the safety of the team. Two minutes on the surface in his new position and already he'd lost a man. He'd lost a _command_ _officer_ for Christ's sake!

He was responsible.

What an utter clusterf*ck.

Clegg appeared beside him looking down on the vacant section of carpet where the security officer had lost his mind. "I didn't even know his name."

"Damien King," Laine answered, snapping out of his emotional narcosis. He set his phaser to its highest thermal disruption level. "Stand clear."

Xander and Willow shot out of his way when he aimed at the doors and fired the pistol in a sustained beam.

They watched for a good 10 seconds as the orange beam collided in vain with the glass.

Laine released the trigger and dropped the weapon to his side. Approaching the doors, he reached out and tentatively pressed his palm to the point of impact.

The glass was stone cold. It made no sense. Unless something was effecting the power output of his phaser…

Laine turned the weapon into the reception area, sending the others ducking, and fired on one of the ugly orange chairs. The fabric disintegrated outward as the seat turned to smoke.

He fired at the door again. 5 seconds… 10 seconds… 15.

Laine stopped, holstered his weapon, walked up to the entrance, and pounded a fist into the glass. He let out a roar of frustration and leaned against both doors. He pushed against the glass for a moment feebly then relaxed there in resignation.

Kimberly Clegg approached him gingerly. "Don't you go losing it on us too, big guy."

He sighed. "Merran survived the occupation of Bajor. For what?" He turned and opened his arms to encompass the room. "This?"

"Don't start with that, Laine," Clegg cautioned him. "Not now. Not while we're still here."

"Right." He rubbed the top of his dome and scanned the room. The whole place was just…wrong. Everything looked old as well as old-fashioned. And dead ahead, that beautifully crafted reception desk – a dark forbidding symbol of ancient excess.

"Step one?" Clegg asked him.

"Find a way out of here and contact the Phantom."

"So let's focus on that."

Xander reached down and recovered King's phaser pistol. "I'm keepin' hold of this," he told the officers. "You can tell your captain to shove it–"

"It's fine," Laine dismissed. "Just… roll back the setting. Maximum stun only."

Xander did so immediately, and saw that the phaser was cranked up to its highest kill setting. This troubled him a little, as the kill setting shouldn't vaporise its target, and vaporisation had, well, a vapour effect like the destroyed orange chair. Hadn't Merran and King simply…disappeared? He opened his mouth to say something…

A loud bang echoed suddenly from down the dark corridor and the scraping of furniture passed over the floor above them.

The team looked to each other uneasily.

"I guess we're not alone," said Kimberly, moving onto the lower steps of the ornate curving staircase and checking her tricorder again. Her expression indicated there was still no help from the device.

"Take Xander and search the next floor," Laine said to her. "I'll take Willow and check that hallway."

"We should stick together," insisted Xander. He turned to Will. "Remember what happened that Halloween."

She nodded back in agreement.

"What happened on Halloween?" asked Kimberly from the staircase.

"There was a house," said Will. "Not a hotel but… it was on campus. There was a presence – a Fear Demon spirit. It split us up and…" she trailed off, unsure how to get the jist of it across. "Let's just say sticking together's probably the best idea."

"Seems a tad convenient, doesn't it?" offered Xander. "Not a peep then two noises from two different locations at the same time?"

Clegg got the picture. "Right when we were about to look for a way out."

"You think it could be one of those Fear Demons?" asked Laine.

Willow didn't dare offer a hypothesis. Not after the last time. "I don't know."

Xander had no such reservations. "It's definitely a scary _something_."

Laine weighed it all up and decided. "Then we ignore anything that interferes with our objective. We stay in one unit and search for an exit."

"And if they're all like this one?" Clegg asked, pointing to the main doors.

"One step at a time," said the big man.

Kim looked up at the dark stairway, suddenly thankful she wouldn't have to go up there.

"We should try the kitchen," offered Xander. "There might be a catering entrance."

A gust of cold stale air suddenly sucked through reception and down the dark corridor with a faint groan of anguish.

Laine shivered, hoping no one noticed. Clegg's face was paler than usual.

"I don't think the scary something likes your plan," said Willow.

"Good," he replied. "We might actually be able to get out that way."

Laine composed himself and tried to sound confident. "Let's find the kitchen."

Th-thump.

The team turned to the staircase and looked up. Something had hit one of the higher steps. Something like a heavy foot.

Th-thump.

It was coming down the stairs. They backed away from the base.

Th-thump.

Th-thump.

…

Th-thump.

Th-thump.

Th-thump.

Their eyes were draw to the top of the first flight where the landing faded into shadow and the stairs changed direction. The thing was there on the flat, shuffling closer in the darkness. Laine and Xander gripped their pistols.

Something came out of the shadows and down the stairs. It moved steadily and they tried to make sense of the sight. They registered the bright white colour first, then the fur. The eyes. The pink nose… and floppy ears. The guys lowered their guns and shared puzzled looks as a small ball of hair made its way towards them.

Clegg was still on guard. "Is that a…?"

"Rabbit," agreed Will, suspiciously.

Laine took it as a distraction and kept an eye to their rear. Nothing came from the corridor or the other doorways. The rain continued to fall outside.

"Whoa!" called Willow when Xander began reaching for the animal. "What if it's an evil Demon bunny?"

Xander smirked. "Right. Or the ghost of a dead rabbit?" he mocked. "Or a mutant were-rabbit?" His face dropped. Those actually sounded like good points. He withdrew and Laine shot in, taking the furball by the scruff of the neck and raising it into the air. The rabbit kicked briefly then curled its hind legs up and settled, twitching its nose at them. The big security chief turned the rabbit and examined it as Clegg used her sensor device.

"Reads rabbit," she reported.

Laine leaned in for a closer look into its eyes and Willow remembered Buffy's story about the cute zombie puppy and the mess it made of a Klingon's face. She was about to speak up when a loud chirp from the comm units made them all jump.

"Phantom to away team. Respond." It was Varik's voice.

Laine handed the bunny to Xander and went to tap his badge. He hesitated. What was he going to say? They would certainly wonder why Merran wasn't answering. He hit the communicator. "Laine here."

"Report," came the captain's oppressive tone.

"We lost our comm signal, sir. We're trapped in some kind of hotel structure and there seems to be a malevolent presence here." He paused. "We lost Merran and King, Captain."

"We can't locate them either," said the captain in a hiss of static.

"There is still a great deal of interference emanating from your location," Varik reported.

"Do you think you can find them, Commander?" the captain asked.

Laine winced. "They're dead, Phantom." The big muscled officer suddenly felt very weak. "Repeat, Merran and King are dead."

There was a long silence on the other end of the line before Rayner came back sounding more severe than usual. "We're pulling your team out."

Laine shepherded the others out into the open space of reception. "We're ready to transport, Phantom."

Commander Carver replied, "We're having some difficulty locking onto your signals. We'll have to bring you up one at a time."

"Understood," said Laine, and gave Xander the signal to go up first.

Kimberly took his phaser and left him holding the white bunny. They didn't need to give the captain any more fuel to burn them with. Xander turning up with a weapon was the last thing they wanted to go and do at this point.

Xander, for his part, not being a great fan of the beaming, took it as the lesser of two evils. "I'm ready to get out of here."

Laine nodded. "Energise."

* * *

(Just to let you know, for those worried about how much longer we're going to be on this little ship with these weird characters and half a Scooby Gang, this will be the last episode set on the Phantom.)

(As always, pictures of the Phantom crew and the Lambda Hromi III team are available through my Facebook page, if you wanna know what Kimberly or Laine or Rayner and Varik look like, or the Phantom etc.)

Thanks for reading.


	14. The Downward Spiral

_-__** Buffy Meets Star Trek 2**__-_

**_Phantom Days_ **

- The Downward Spiral -

**14**

**Xander**

The Dungeon transporter room reappeared around Xander Harris and he breathed a sigh of relief. The Pink Twins manned the controls.

"We've received Harris," they reported.

Xander, powerless to restrain himself, had to check again to make sure he was still intact. That's when he noticed something was missing. Bugs was gone. He swivelled around, searching the room. "Anyone see a rabbit?"

The twins watched him incredulously and Mia waved him off the pad. "We need to get the others up," they said. Ella took his arm and guided him swiftly from the room.

"We need to debrief you," she said as they moved through PRD.

"I'm not sure I know you guys well enough to get naked. There a Finnish sauna involved?" He realised immediately how inappropriate his joke was, considering recent twin-related events. He cursed within.

Ella didn't seem particularly phased. "You should go change and…" she noticed the state he was in, "…dry yourself off." She stopped at the main door and gave a sly grin. "If you needed a cold shower you could have taken one up here."

He forced out a joyless chortle of laughter at the embarrassing dig and scuttled away.

* * *

Anya barely acknowledged him back at their room as he dried himself down with a towel and put on a fresh uniform. Even when he told her about the old lady and security officer dying, implying that his own death might have been imminent, she offered only a humph in return.

Sure, she'd caught him in a compromising situation, but it was hardly his fault. Yet, Anya was still not a happy bunny.

* * *

Within the hour, Xander found himself stuffed in the cramped conference room of the ship with the Vulcan, Nog, the X-Files bug-eyed alien security officer, the chief engineer, and the young wrinkly-nosed doctor. He wondered where Laine and Willow were. Will hadn't even been to see him since they beamed up. Something about it made him uncomfortable. Clegg wasn't there either and the caustic captain was late. Xander was tense. He scratched at the nervous itch on the back of his hand.

The doctor leaned over the table with one of his hypo guns. "Quit it before you make it bleed," he told Xander. "This'll take the edge off. I expected more of you so I guess you'll get the full dose. Looks like you need it." With that he shot the contents into Xander's neck with a sharp sting that instantly spread to a warm tingle in his muscles.

Xander let out a long "Aaaah," and melted back into his seat.

By the time Rayner showed up, Xander was so relaxed he'd given up trying to get his mouth to stay shut.

The captain didn't sit. His demonic beady eyes, set in their deep dark skeletal sockets, looked fierce as ever. The perpetually grumpy man eyed them down and snarled in distaste when he saw Xander slouched, sleepy-eyed and drooling at the opposite end of the table.

"We're abandoning this mission," he said flatly. "Commander Merran Araya and Lieutenant Damien King were killed in action. Commander Laine has been relieved of active duty pending an inquiry into their deaths. Lieutenant Schlatnak is now our acting security chief."

The big-headed alien looked surprised.

"We're currently en-route to our next assignment and I need security and PRD organised and ready by the time we get there."

Xander frowned. _Did he just say we're already on our way someplace else?_ A little of his tension returned. He tried to lift his lazy hand. "Where–" He wiped the drool from his chin. "Where's Willow and Kim?"

"Back on that other planet," he said with a grimace.

Xander's tranquilliser wore off.

Doctor Galeia put up a hand. "And to what land of fun and games are we heading for now?"

"I suppose Risa would be too much to hope for," said Nog.

"God only knows," groaned the captain. "Somewhere no man has gone before."

"Excuse me." Xander's hand was awake and up now. "We're not leaving Will and Kimberly back on the haunted planet of death…?" The thought of being trapped in the Hotel California left him nauseous.

"Orders from above," said Captain Rayner. "Another starship's on its way to pick them up. _If_ they have better luck getting through the interference." Xander tried to say something further but Rayner cut him off. "Look. This is the way it is and that's that. Got it? Don't be a whiner. Take the rest of the day off and report to the twins first thing tomorrow. In the meantime, Schlatnak – get your crew organised and be ready in the morning. That's everything for now unless anyone has–?"

Xander's hand went up again.

"Not you," Rayner finished, glanced around, then left.

Xander looked to the doctor. "We can't just leave them behind…"

"Everyone's expendable on Rayner's watch," Galeia pointed out.

Before the others were even out the door, Xander was scraping at the itch on the back of his hand again. In the forefront of his mind was Willow, and all the possible horrors she might face in that hell hotel. In the back of his mind he wondered, _Can a rabbit have fleas?_

* * *

The mess hall was quiet that night. Xander had been alone with his beer until Schlatnak rolled in with a computer tablet and, without looking up from the device, ordered a drink and sat across from him with a big alien sigh. That must have been ten minutes ago.

The door opened again and the twins came in, spotted Xander, got their glasses of plankton water and sat with them.

"You're in late," they said to him.

"Yeah." Xander managed a nasal sigh. "Guess I'm avoiding my other – less understanding – half."

The girls winced. "Still giving you the cold elbow?"

He frowned, but didn't bother correcting them. "Something like that."

"Flowers giving," said Schlatnak without looking up from his padd.

"Right," the Pink Twins agreed. "Or a nice box of Andorian chocolates."

"Emotional appeasements don't hold as much weight when you can just magic any old thing up on the computer," he pointed out.

The girls studied him for a moment. "You look stressed," noted Mia. "You'll go grey," Ella warned. Mia leaned in closer. "It's too late by the look of it."

"What?" He touched his hair self-consciously.

Mei-Li walked in then and joined them with a tall glass of iced tea. "How come you guys are in here so late?" she asked the twins. "I thought you needed, like, twelve hours a night."

"We couldn't sleep," they answered. "We're the new heads of PRD now. We're trying to figure out how to run things. We can't decide whether to be informal and easygoing or totalitarian and mildly impatient."

"Try for a happy medium," Xander advised. He _was_ PRD advisor, after all.

"I can be a Medium," said Mei-Li, taking up a sort of lotus position. "Willow taught me some stuff." She closed her eyes. "Ummmmm…."

"I can't believe Rayner left Will and Kim behind like that," Xander lamented.

"Yeah," the twins agreed, "that was harsh."

Mei-Li stopped humming and opened her eyes. "Well, they're not on the other side so that's a plus."

Xander suddenly didn't feel like being there anymore and he got up, left his drink, and walked out of the mess.

"Try to relax," Ella called after him.

"Or you'll wake up with bird's feet," added Mia.

"Crow's feet," corrected Mei-Li as the door closed behind him.

* * *

Returning to his room, Xander found Anya in the top bunk with the lights out. She seemed to be asleep and he rocked her shoulder gently. It _was_ cold, he noticed. She groaned.

"An. I need to talk to you."

She rolled over, half-asleep and grumpy-looking. "What is it?" She certainly sounded crabby.

"It's everything," he said. "Me, you…"

Anya sat up and scratched at her hair.

"…That ass of a captain," he went on. "Do you know he left Willow on that planet and now he's taking us… who the hell can say where?"

"Willow?" she said with disdain. "Should have known."

"What do you mean?"

"A second ago it was me and you. It didn't take long for Willow to come up, did it?"

"Did you hear what I said? They just left her on that creepy haunted rock. Two people died there."

Anya ignored him. "You defended her when she was wrong about the soul prison. You don't even defend _me_ when I'm _right!_" She was becoming angry. "It's always about Willow, or Buffy. I'm just your sex toy. Or I was at least until you could find something new. Something younger. Something pink, fishy and on a two-for-one offer."

"Jesus, Anya, you know damn well that had nothing to do with me! Or them! We've been through this."

"Now you're defending _them!_" She turned over and away from him, pulling the covers over her. "I'm going to sleep. By myself."

"Anya…"

"Just leave me alone."

Xander stared at her for a long time until he began to feel the onset of exhaustion. That or the drugs were coming back into effect. "Lights," he said meekly, returning the room to blackness, and headed into the compact washroom. He looked at his face in the mirror and saw the dark around his eyes. He looked worn. Then he remembered what the twins said and inspected his hair closely.

"Damn…" They were right. There on both sides of his head, near the crown, two patches showing the first signs of colour loss. He was only eighteen, for goodness' sake. He glared at the white hairs in disbelief until his eyes tried to close on him. He shut off the light and went out to sleep in the bottom bunk.

* * *

**Laine**

Commander Laine materialised on the transporter pad of the Phantom.

Ensign Mia Taro was there to greet him. To her, he looked like a big soggy bear. He seemed distressed and uncharacteristically timid. Not the big tough soldier that beamed down mere minutes earlier. "Commander Laine is onboard," she told the bridge.

Captain Rayner came on the line. "Send him up to my readyroom."

Laine gave her the hint of a polite troubled smile as he made his way out.

* * *

Laine arrived on the bridge deck and was greeted with a mix of concerned, sympathetic, and accusing glances. In the readyroom, the captain had listened to his baffling report of the events on the surface of Lambda Hromi III.

He found the idea of King going suddenly mad and committing both murder and suicide within seconds of each other completely inconceivable. And now he was off on a rant that Laine wished he could escape from.

"Unfortunately for you this was your first time leading an away-mission," Rayner fumed, salting Laine's open wound. "And less fortunately for you, even less so for Merran and King, it means you're responsible for the fate of your team. _My_ people. You are directly accountable for what happened to them, you understand. And until I'm clearer on what exactly that was, I'm relieving you of your position and confining you to quarters pending an investigation."

Laine had expected a bad reaction from the man, but this… Laine was physically shaking. He couldn't remember the last time he had cried (had he _ever_ cried…?) but now he felt that horrible burning sensation as tears threatened to form in the corners of his anguished eyes.

Rayner offered no comfort. "It seems I made a mistake of my own by keeping you onboard this ship when mistakes appear to be all you excel at."

Laine had no response for the man. There was no defence. None that could appease Javen Rayner, that much was clear.

"Captain," the voice of Varik cut in.

Rayner tapped his badge. "Here."

"An urgent transmission for you from Starfleet Headquarters," said the Vulcan.

"I'll take it here." He eyed the bigger man with utter contempt. "Wait outside. We're not done yet."

Laine stepped out of the oppressive office and still couldn't let his feelings out. The bridge crew filled the room. His work mates. Over-the-shoulder glances and sly darting eyes came his way as he stood by the door.

The tiny bridge felt at once claustrophobic and he knew it was just his frame of mind that made it so. None of his crewmates came over to see how he was or offered him support. From their awkward body language and embarrassed looks when he caught their eyes, it was as though they'd heard every word the captain had thrown at him.

Laine gritted his teeth and ran the away mission through his head again and again searching desperately for some kind of defence or excuse that could free him from this torturous situation he was in. All the while he fought back that burning in his eyes.

No matter what, he was Laine. He would not cry. Not in this life. He hadn't killed anyone and he couldn't have stopped King. He would stand by that even as they dragged him from the court martial in chains, if it came to that. Xander would back him up. Clegg and Willow too when they got off that wet haunted rock of a planet. Then a terrible thought struck him.

_**If**__ they get off…_

The door to the readyroom opened up and Captain Rayner entered the bridge. "Ensign – you should be getting a new heading from Starfleet any second now. When you do, punch it in. Full speed."

Lori Gunnlaugsdóttir replied with a nod. "Aye, sir."

Varik's left eyebrow went up.

The captain caught it. "A few minutes ago Starbase 24 detected a massive gravitational shift in one of the far corners of the Hromi Cluster," he explained. "We're being sent to investigate."

"We still have people on the surface, Captain," the Vulcan pointed out.

"I know. Are we any closer to getting through the interference?"

Commander Carver had the engineering station. "No, sir. Just like before. We're not registering Clegg or Rosenberg on the surface. And there's no indication of the Klingon shuttle or this structure you mentioned."

"Starfleet's more concerned with this grav flux incident so we can't hang around here. They'll send someone to take over." Rayner stepped across the room, massaging his head. "Right now, we have a debriefing to get to. Varik, Carver, Nog – report to the conference room." He turned to Laine. "As for you… Don't go anywhere. And don't return to your post."

Laine felt his cheeks flush and his head burn up, knowing that everyone on the bridge had a clear understanding of what the captain was saying with that last finely pointed statement.

"Ensign," Rayner turned to Lori. "I'm leaving the ship in your hands until Singh gets here so keep your eye on the screens."

The girl looked startled. She was just an Ensign. If that had been a move made purely to twist the knife into Laine's chest, it had been a perfect twist. Rather than leave the ship to _him_, an ensign with no command experience was given the reigns.

When everyone but he and Lori Gunnlaugsdóttir had vacated the bridge, Laine considered moving to the back of the room and having a little moment to himself. Lori, with her own fear of the Tyrant Captain gripping her, would surely keep her head fixed forward. But Laine had a fear of his own to contend with. Moving to the back put him a little too close to tactical – the post he was forbidden from approaching. There were other seats around the bridge, none of which were his post, yet Laine didn't move an inch. Much as he wanted to sit, the former chief of security stayed right where he was.

A couple of times it looked like the young blonde pilot might turn his way but she had reigned the urge in and not spoken a word.

About five minutes or so had passed and Laine was still in his statuesque position when a security man entered the bridge. It was Tom Clark. A tall well-built thirty-something and probably the closest match in muscle-structure to Laine.

Clark managed not to look Laine in the eye as he moved almost casually around tactical and stopped a few feet away, facing him. After a tense moment, Clark found the need to explain his presence. "Captain had Schlatty send me up here."

"What did he tell you?" asked the big guy.

"Not to let you out of my sight, sir. Sorry."

"No need to call me sir, Tom. Not anymore."

Clark gave a regretful nod and the room fell quiet. A silence that persisted even when Doctor Singh arrived, scanned the room with barely a whiff of interest and sat in the command chair. He didn't look particularly overjoyed being there. Probably wondered why he wasn't at the debriefing.

Everyone had problems, considered Laine. But few, he thought on, had it quite as bad as him.

_At least you have problems_, a voice at the back of his mind told him. _Merran and King don't._

* * *

**Willow**

"Energise," said Lieutenant Kimberly Clegg, with Willow standing ready for transport.

The witch's eyes arced back and forth as she waited for the transporter effect to begin, twitching her fingers impatiently.

But it didn't begin.

Kimberly pressed her communicator again. "Clegg to Phantom." …Nothing. "Do you read me, Phantom? Please acknowledge."

Their reply was silence. For a few moments at the least.

A rolling crack of thunder shook the glass of the impenetrable doors and the lights of the hotel cut out.

Clegg let out a short sharp shriek in the oily blackness and Willow managed to find her with a wandering hand.

"Something's playing games with us in here," Kim whispered in her ear.

Willow felt Kimberly's breath on her skin and a wave of euphoria passed through her. Goose bumps. "Yeah, I think so," she answered. Really, she _knew_ so. She just didn't want to throw that word back out there so easily. _You know, just in case…_

"Tell me you've got something up your Wiccan sleeve, Will."

"I…I don't even know what we're dealing with yet. We need more information. Knowing _something_ would be a start. What about you?"

"Well," Kimberly considered, "we don't have power anymore so I can't try to amp up the comm units. Maybe we can find some clues on our way to the roof?"

"You think we'll get better reception up there?"

"Not hopeful," she admitted. "But it's all I've got right now."

"Beats my _curl-up-in-a-corner-and-wait-for-rescue_ plan," said Will, trying to lighten the mood.

Kimberly began to pull Willow through the foyer slowly, skirting around the furniture. "We need some light."

Willow had her guiding light spell but she said nothing of it to Kimberly as they found the reception desk in the darkness. She wanted to cast the spell – show Kim that she could be useful. But something held her back and the words failed to pass from her lips. She heard Clegg rooting around under the desk for a few seconds, then the sound of phaser power level buttons being pressed. There followed a brief flare of the weapon and the wick of a candle came alive with fire.

The flickering flame gave a dull orange glow to small areas of the room, most of which remained black with shadow. The candle in Kimberly's hand was fixed into an old brass holder with a looped handle and Kim showed her the way to the base of the stairs.

"Feeling brave?" Kimberly asked her.

"Not especially," she admitted.

"Perfect. Let's go spook some ghosts."

Willow watched Kimberly head sure-footedly up the dark staircase. She was forcing herself to be bold and fearless. Will wondered if she was doing it for _her_ benefit or if it was just Kim's way.

Pushing herself to be as bold, Willow followed her up. The floorboards creaked and groaned and complained as they ascended.

The faint orange glow of flame highlighted the dark wooden steps of the staircase as they reached the crest where the second floor opened up into a wide corridor carpeted with the same bloody-coloured fabric as the foyer. The old seventies wallpaper seemed to move and swirl in the firelight. Kim stopped at the top of the stairs and pushed the candlestick to either side of them. Strange, how the incandescent flame barely lit the hall more than a few feet ahead and behind. The shadows weighed unnaturally heavy over the halls and chambers of this ghoulish hotel.

"Sure wish I had some of your magic right now," said Kimberly, whose voice had dropped to a whisper.

She might have had some magic, considered Willow, if their sessions had been more productive. "Kimberly?" she said, keeping her own volume as regular as she dared. "Do you actually believe there's a Wiccan Goddess in some mystical realm blessing witches with her divine power? Or that you'll find some kind of explanation for it with your science?"

Kim proceeded along the corridor to the right testing every door they passed. "Well, …you know… there's got to be a way to explain it in scientific terms, right? Wherever it comes from."

"Unless you believe in Wicca and the Mother Goddess, in the power of nature and the divine being that created it, then I can't help you harness that power," Will explained. "All I can do is teach you how to be New Age Pagan hippies."

Kim stopped at the next guest room. "I bet New Age Pagan hippies don't break down doors."

"Huh?"

"We've been going down this corridor way too long," Kimberly indicated. "The building wasn't anywhere _near_ this big from the outside. Hold this a sec."

Willow accepted the candle and watched as Clegg took a step back from the room and thrust forward with a powerful kick, ramming the door. The latch crunched free of the frame and the door pushed in a few inches before it, and her foot, were stopped dead.

Clegg groaned and rubbed her leg, peering in through the narrow gap she'd made. She beckoned Willow to bring the candle and they saw through the opening not a guest room but a wall of concrete.

They turned to each other. Kimberly's large kittenish eyes reflected the fire of the candlelight. Will didn't like the way things were going but Kim, for her part, was trying to appear only mildly baffled. They moved to the next doorway across the hall. Using her other leg to bash through, the door slammed open and spilled out a heap of dirt and soil into the hall, pushing them back. The room was full of earth.

The next door gave in easily and emptied hot air into the corridor. The smell of decay flowed out with it.

Clegg covered her nose and mouth to keep from spewing her guts. "Okay, we're being toyed with here and I'm getting kinda sick of it already." She led them quickly along the corridor and Willow soon realised she was right about how far it stretched. Finally, from the dark ahead, they found the end. A fire exit. Kim fumbled with the door mechanism until Will showed her how to push the bar down. The door opened wide revealing absolutely nothing. Where an emergency stairwell should have been, there was only a dark endless void that even the candle failed to illuminate.

From deep within the darkness came a pulling, clinging, terrifying sadness and despair. A soul-sucking desperate longing that reached out and gripped them in a cold damp embrace. The heavy shadows that lay in every corner of this horror-infested hotel had been born in this void. Willow knew it. She could feel it. Every patch of dark was a soul in torment.

Black shadows, untouched by their candle flame, began to ooze out of the void; reaching around the doorframe to gain purchase, Something massive was coming…

They drew away from the exit. The door swung back and closed on them with a heavy metal clink.

In an instant those frightful sensations dissipated along with the paranoia of coming evil and the fingers of darkness.

Willow watched the door for a good while, still overcome by icky creepishness.

Kim puffed out an exasperated sigh. "I've seen a few old movies, and I've been thinking. Maybe it's one of those ghosts you have to follow until it shows you how to help it rest in peace? Is that kinda thing possible in your world?"

"Yeah…but… we haven't seen any ghosts," noted Will.

Kim shrugged. "_Any_ of this giving you a clue about what we're dealing with?"

Feeling like avoiding the question again might draw attention to the fact she was skirting around theories; she took a leap and said, "What if this whole place is alive? Or… alive with the souls of the dead. Or… shadows…haunted by the souls of the dead…?" She pooh-poohed her lame guesswork. "I have no idea," she conceded. "There's something scary and evil and it's coming from there."

Clegg considered the door again, and turned back with a purposeful glare in her eyes. "People always run away from these scary encounters in horror movies, right? I say we burst in there and jump."

Will's mouth fell open in disbelief.

"To hell with logic. Sense. Physics. Anything we're being pushed away from must be important enough to explore. The concrete suite back there's blocked up, salle de soil doesn't work for me and I'm boycotting rot room. So… the exit of endless nothing into the pit of eternal torment. Sounds like a winner to me."

Willow considered the exit door and imagined falling into that terrible clinging despair – being consumed by it. Falling through darkness forever and ever and ever and ever…

**BONGggggg!**

The girls almost jumped clear out of their soggy uniforms as the bellowing ring of mission bells sounded out from someplace outside and high.

"Where's that coming from?" asked Will.

"A belfry, maybe. The big central tower we saw outside?"

**BONGggggg … B-B-BONGggggg … B-B-BONGggg, BONG, BONGggggg…**

It sounded like some old Christian hymn tune; drawn out and slowed down to seem darker in mood.

"Someone could be up there," urged Willow.

"Another distraction," said Kim, and shoved the fire door open again.

Willow didn't like her plan.

"I'm going in." Kimberly looked back at her with a mischievous glint. "You game?"

From within the void beyond the door a blanket of shadow came forth in an instant, wrapped around Clegg, and took her.

In terrified silence she vanished into the ink.

* * *

**Xander**

Xander Harris woke up just a second before his alarm sounded. He swung his legs out of the bunk and rubbed his head. For one blissful second life was The Sound of Music. Then, when he recalled the entirety of his existence up to that moment, The Sound of Music gave way to Les Misérables.

He grumbled and rubbed his face, then checked up top. Anya's bunk was empty and he ambled across to the wash closet, flicked on the overhead bulb and stared at his groggy reflection. What he saw brought a frown to his face. Last night he'd found two patches of grey on either side of his crown. Now those patches had grown into white tufts that flicked up from his head. He searched the cabinet, found the hair grease, and pasted the white clumps of bed-hair to his skull.

* * *

Breakfast in the mess hall. Busy as hell. There was no Anya but he saw the next best thing. Xander ordered his usual cereal, toast and coffee and took the empty seat between Mei-Li and the twins. For some reason he didn't feel like talking to them but he needed to know…

"You guys…see Anya this morning?"

The twins said not, but Mei said yes.

"Did you talk to her? What did she say?" he asked desperately. "Please tell me she said something. Even if it's anything."

"You mean about you?" asked Mei. It was early yet her large Asian eyes sparkled. "Oh yeah." The young Chinese girl munched away on a morning salad of lettuce, tomato, ham and noodles. "She says you're a… 'Puss-infected wart growing on the ass of humanity.' Or something."

Xander gawked at her. _Huh_. Suddenly his breakfast didn't look all that appetising. Absently, he reached for Mei-Li's plate and, to her surprise, pinched a leaf of her lettuce.

"Maybe we should talk to her," offered the twins.

"What? Hell no." He caught himself with the lettuce leaf an inch from his mouth. He puzzled and shook his head. "Where is she now?"

"She was heading for the Dungeon," answered Mei.

"I…um…" Something felt strange inside him. It was vague. He couldn't put his finger on it. Xander dropped the lettuce back on Mei's plate, which made her nose wrinkle. "…I should go find her."

"Don't forget to take some chocolates," said Mia Taro as he headed off.

He passed Schlatnak on his way out. The bug-eyed alien threw him a finger and reminded him, "Flowers giving."

_Geez. Flowers, chocolates, flowers, chocolates_. What was it with these people? He didn't need flowers and chocolates. He needed the right words to say to make everything like it was before they set foot on this damn ship!

He didn't stop, but gave the alien a half-assed smile of gratitude on his way to the door.

* * *

Anya was at the central column of PRD, working something on a terminal there, when Xander entered. She looked up when the doors swooshed then turned her focus back to the screens when she saw it was him.

He approached her carefully. "Hey." _Try not to sound nosy or demanding. Just be polite. Easy does it, Harris. _"What are you looking at?"

"There's supposed to be a planet," she said. "A new one. No one's ever been here before and I wanted to see it but…I can't get this stupid machine to do anything." She finally looked at him. "What're those?"

Xander held out a handful of half-wrapped brown stems and petals. "Chocolate flowers."

She appeared briefly to be touched, but Anya turned her eyes to the carpet. "I don't need chocolate flowers, Xander."

"I know." He put them down on one of the panels. "They're…just a symbol. Just something to show you that, whatever I did – or didn't do – to make you feel the way you do; whatever pain I'm responsible for, …I'm sorry. I'm sorry and I want to make it right. That's what they mean. At least, that's what the flowers mean. The chocolates just mean I wanna make you fat. Seriously, though, I thought… the flowers mean something… and flowers die. I didn't want the meaning to die with them so I figured… chocolate flowers. That way… I don't know." He huffed. "I really tried to find something profound and poetic in the whole chocolate flowers thing, but…"

She fought a smile and put her arms around him. They hugged for a long time, and Xander was grateful for the feel of her against him, for the softness of her hair against his cheek, and for the way it smelled. This was all he wanted, …and the thought of losing her was…

_Don't think about it_

"I was worried you didn't care anymore," he admitted.

"Just because you're an alien-humping creep doesn't mean I stopped caring."

He pulled his head back, instinct drawing him to protest, but Anya stopped him with a finger on his lips.

"I know you didn't technically hump anything," she acknowledged and pulled him close again.

"You know, I was almost raped by possessed fish people," he whispered. "I could have used some support too…"

Anya pulled away from the hug and rubbed his arms gently. "I'm here now…" she trailed off as she looked at his hair sideways and pressed down the sticky-up tufts of white growing out his head. She ran her fingers through his hair and paused. "Xander… your _ears_."

"Right. Skipped cleaning 'em this morning. Actually, I've been thinking of starting my own waxwork mu–"

"They're stuck to your head."

"They're _what?_" he reached up and felt them. They weren't protruding out anymore; they'd grown _into_ the side of his head! Xander's eyes grew massive with fear as he looked to Anya. "How…?" His voice came out weak and hollow. "What's happening…?"

* * *

"It's that God-forsaken mockery of a transport system. I knew it." Xander was sat on Doctor Singh's sickbed in medical. Anya was with him. The Indian doctor's face remained annoyingly blank. "It gave me a disease," Xander went on. "A beaming disease. It's God punishing _me_ for all your molecule hacking. It's an insult to his precious creation of life, is what it is."

"Actually, Mr Harris, it looks to me like you've been fused with a lagomorph," Singh offered indifferently. His moustache barely twitched.

"Lagomorph?" Xander turned pale. He didn't know what it was but it didn't sound healthy.

"Is that…some kind of alien parasite?" asked Anya, shifting nervously.

"Not really," said Doctor Singh. "More likely a pika. Perhaps a hare, or a rabbit."

"A…a rabbit?" Xander felt a candid camera moment coming on before he recalled, "I had a rabbit. I mean, I found one. On the planet before."

"Did it bite you?" Singh looked over the large results monitor on the wall.

"Bite me? No."

Anya was beginning to look very uneasy, and faintly disgusted. "You think he's a were-rabbit?"

"It didn't bite me," Xander insisted. "It disappeared. I had it before I beamed up here but… but it was gone when I arrived and, oh my God, I'm _The Fly_…" he curled up into a sad little ball on the table.

"It _would_ appear that the transporter has spliced you and this lagomorph – rabbit – on the molecular level," nodded the doc.

"That explains my salad craving."

"And it's only going to get worse. The rabbit cells are dominating your weaker man-cells."

Anya had taken a small step away. "How is this possible?"

"You didn't tell them about the rabbit when you transported back, did you?" asked a disapproving Singh. "Well, there you go. That's what you get for smuggling livestock, Mr Harris."

"This is a nightmare. Worse, it's a daymare. You sure I'm not asleep?"

"You're quite awake, I'm afraid."

"Maybe it's a Demon thing?" He looked to Anya. She seemed to be further away than he remembered. "An evil rabbit. You can fix this, right?"

"I… This isn't exactly how Demon's work…"

"It's possible though, right?"

"I…I wouldn't know without–"

"There must be old stories about this kind of thing? Something to scare the little Demons. Be bad or the boogiemonster'll fuse you with a human?"

"Xander, I'm not a computer. I can't just remember everything I've ever known on demand."

"You remembered all that Rumplestiltskin stuff before." He was beginning to panic.

"That just came to me in the moment…"

"We kind of _are_ in the moment. This is the moment. Right now. So come up with something."

Anya's face twisted into a pained scowl and she backed away. Her mouth turned down bitterly as she hung her head and drifted slowly out of sickbay.

"Well," said Singh, handing him an orange stick. "This is a jolly bad situation you're in."

Xander took a bite. "And so say all of me," he agreed, and frowned at the carrot in his hand.

* * *

"Of all the things you had to turn into you had to choose a rabbit." Anya's face soured over.

"Hey, I didn't choose this–" Xander contended from across their shed of a room.

"You couldn't have picked a puppy or a Komodo dragon…"

"How about a little empathy here? I'm finding this whole screwy situation pretty distressing. I'm a little scared out of my mind right now."

"Xander, I'm sorry, this is just too weird for me."

"Too weird for _you?_ I'm the one being invaded by Bucky O'Hare!"

"I said I'm sorry. But I can't be around you. I need time…and space. At least until they de-bunny you."

He stared at her thunderstruck.

* * *

An officer escorted Xander to another room that night. For safety reasons, he was told, until they understood exactly what was wrong with him and if it was contagious. He wondered if it was because Anya had asked them to. He tried to call her in their quarters but either he was asking the computer wrong or she wasn't picking up.

His new cabin looked exactly like their other one, only now he was alone, which made it feel so much different. He took to the bottom bunk that night. After hours of tossing and turning, of fear and confusion, he finally fell into an uncomfortable sleep filled with sinister imagery and a harrowing sense of isolation.

* * *

**Laine**

It was the dawn of another day, and the Phantom found itself someplace new. A region of the Cluster that had been mapped but never explored. Someplace potentially dangerous and Laine wasn't on the bridge to watch their asses.

He was alone, confined to quarters, and pretty sure that a security detail was keeping an eye on him. Now and again he would feel like he was being victimised somehow – hell, it wasn't like he'd committed a crime. Then he would remember the incident in the Frisco bar and how Rayner had still, against his better judgement, trusted him with the safety of his ship and crew. And then he'd remember Commander Merran Araya and Lieutenant Damien King. He could see their cold pale corpses packed in metal boxes with blank staring eyes. But their families would have no bodies to bury. That was on him. That was his crime.

Laine hadn't slept well during the night and woken early. He'd tried to access the ship logs to find out what was going on beyond his four grey walls but all he'd learned was that his security clearance had been revoked. His four walls had closed in on him. His modest room little more than a cramped prison cell. No one called. None of his friends had come to check on him. It dawned on him that he didn't really know anyone here particularly well and though he had imagined having good connections with a few of them, perhaps they didn't see it that way. Not enough to consider him a friend, it would seem.

It was almost noon when his door chime sounded. Laine answered in his slacks. It was Tom Clark again. His detail.

"Laine," he said, foregoing the 'sir' this time.

"Tom?"

"Put on your uniform. Captain's waiting in the transporter room."

* * *

Commander Varik was explaining the display of a large padd to Captain Rayner when Laine arrived at the main transporter room on deck 1.

"And all this happened in the last few minutes?" the captain was asking.

The Vulcan nodded. "It appears to be in continuous flux."

"But stable?"

Varik puzzled at his captain. "Hardly."

"You're thinking it's unsafe?"

Varik looked about as surprised as a Vulcan could. "You are not?"

"I'm just working off a theory–" He saw Laine.

Laine noticed Schlatnak was there too, avoiding eye contact with his former chief.

"Just keep an eye on things," Rayner told Cmdr Varik. "And be ready to pull us out if things deteriorate." He then moved to Schlatnak and led him away a little to go over something out of Laine's earshot.

Varik approached him and nodded for Tom Clark to leave.

"What's going on?" Laine asked – much less formally than he'd intended. Varik handed him the padd. The screen was awash with data – readings, fluctuation levels, the analysis of planets and a star. There was a video file ready to play, so he set it running.

"As you are aware, we responded to an alert from Starbase 24 regarding a massive gravitational increase in this sector. As you can see from these readings the area was mapped recently and we are now at the site of a planet designated _HC-1316 Alpha_ orbiting a much larger planet-sized formation of ice."

Laine saw the image data of a tiny (by Earth standards) planetoid of uninhabitable frozen rock orbiting a ball of compressed and compacted ice almost twice the size of Earth's sun.

"When this area was mapped," Varik continued, "HC-1316 Alpha was a Geoinactive Class-C dwarf planet with a diameter of approximately 2'500km and a gravitational mass of 1.31 times 10 to the 22nd kilograms."

Laine watched as a second image appeared of a much larger world with a breathable atmosphere. A world that also looked like ice, but much too warm to be frozen.

"Now it appears to be a Class-M Terrestrial Geocrystalline planet 11'000km in diameter with a mass increase of fourteen hundred percent."

Laine looked up at the Vulcan. "This is the same planet?"

"Apparently so."

"But…"

"Yes," acknowledged Varik, already expecting the question 'how?'. His emotionless face bore no sign of surprise, confusion, or even the faint twinkle of interest in the steady gaze that met Laine. "Indeed."

Varik slipped the padd out of Laine's hand and went out the door.

* * *

Laine materialised in a world of glass. Rayner and Schlatnak appeared on each wing and the three men saw a sight they had never imagined possible.

A crystal landscape lay before them and it moved. To their right, great plains of mineral quartz that grew and shrank and writhed like grass in a gentle breeze. Formations of crystal rock shale both clear and frosted white, reflecting sunlight in places creating a rainbow of colours that danced over the landscape. Above them the sky was a dusky grey and a sun shone weakly over them, though planet HC-1316 Alpha orbited no sun. They were, in fact, looking at a giant mirror. A ball of ice reflecting the light of other stars. No heat came down from that distant orb, but a warmth rose up from somewhere beneath them and they saw the fingers of crystal glass rising in small shards around their feet and retreating into the ground in an undulating random fashion.

Rayner stepped cautiously to the left of them and the ground cracked and clinked under his boots. On that side, the land fell away into a deep and wide ravine. A pulsating alien Grand Canyon. Somewhere on the far side they could hear a sound almost like a gushing river or waterfall, only it was more like a rush of moving, falling, broken glass.

The men were unable to speak. On the horizon all around were rolling hills. Sharp mounds of rising crystal that literally rolled before their eyes. The scene was never the same from one moment to the next. In a blink everything had moved and changed, even if the change was subtle. But from one minute to the next, the change was quite severe.

Rayner finally broke their stunned silence. "I imagine… It would've been a little hard to ask for directions here."

Schlatnak gave an alien chortle.

Laine tested the ground with his foot and the crystals seemed to make way for his step creating a flat the exact shape of his foot. He could walk, smoothly, while all the land around him moved, twisted, rose and fell. He bent to the ground and carefully reached down towards the shards that came up from below – came up for a second to say hi and drop away to move off somewhere else. He took great care because the shards looked extremely sharp but, when one came up suddenly and struck his hand, it didn't cut into his flesh at all. He reached out again and the points of crystal that came up to greet him seemed to soften as they met his flesh and angle away from him, almost caressing his hand. He looked up to Rayner and Schlatnak with wide awe-struck eyes.

"Tell me something, Laine," the captain said. His words seemed to echo over the glassy grassland. "How does a Class-C rock quadruple in size and become a Class-M planet overnight?"

Laine looked out over the swaying plain and across to the tumbling and furling mountains. One possibility came immediately to mind. "It shapeshifted."

"That's what I'm thinking."

Schlatnak frowned at the humans.

Laine stood again and closed his eyes. There was no wind and no heat from the sun came down to kiss his face. The caress of warmth came up from below and warmed his jaw and chin. He opened his eyes again and looked at Javen Rayner. If Laine wasn't there in his official capacity (former), then there was only one reason he could think of. Only one reason Rayner would have freed him from confinement and brought him on an away mission. "You think this is the Chameloid homeworld."

Schlatnak was listening in with a disturbed interest. _Where had __**that**__ idea come from?_ his face said. He had the uncomfortable look of someone realising he was missing something that the other men weren't.

"This entire planet is in a constant state of change," the captain noted. "What other form of life could come from these morphing landscapes? We know it isn't consistent with Founder evolution. But Chameloids… We've all heard the myth of their lost planet. So… is anything here familiar to you?"

Schlatnak tensed up, his large face contorting as he began to piece together what he was hearing.

Laine felt suddenly very self-conscious. "Captain… Is this really the time to–?"

"Yes, Laine, I think it is. I think it's the time _and_ the place."

Schlatnak was frowning deeper now.

Laine's nerves were beginning to burn him from the inside. "Captain… Our arrangement…?"

Rayner scowled at him impatiently. "Laine. Is this planet familiar to you or not?"

The big man sighed. _So be it._ He unzipped his mustard collar and looked around, following the rainbows of colour that snaked across the sparkling crystal ocean of land. "I've never seen Arc, Captain."

Schlatnak blinked in surprise. Laine had no doubt the Monchezken had heard the same old rumours about him that everyone else had. But a rumour that became truth could still shock as much as a truth coming from out of the blue.

"You don't feel some kind of connection?"

"You have to understand, Captain, … I haven't even seen one of my kind for over a hundred years. I was still a child. All he told me of Arc was a story. The tale of a living planet formed around a cold star that had been dying slowly over millions of years. The star collapsed and the supernova destroyed our world centuries ago."

"Maybe he was wrong. Maybe he lied. Maybe this is Arc and that's your cold star. A giant ice globe reflecting the light of three neighbouring suns."

Laine regarded the massive glowing disc above them.

"It's hard to believe," Rayner went on, "but here we are on a planet orbiting no star yet we feel warmth and breathe air like any other Class-M world. A _living planet_. You said it."

"They weren't _my_ words."

"But they were spoken by one of your people."

Schlatnak was blinking quickly and looking from one man to the other as they spoke.

"He was old," replied Laine. "Almost 1900. He could have been senile."

The captain sighed, looked around again, and nodded in disappointment. "If you're really not feeling anything here then I don't suppose we'll learn much until a science team can analyse samples of these crystals." He looked to Lieutenant Schlatnak. "We're heading back."

The alien security chief, still looking baffled, acknowledged, turned around to return to their transport site, and then jumped back in surprise as the ground ahead of them began to glow white with subterranean light. A metre wide circle of crystal earth opened out and a tall narrow prism erupted from the ground and rose up organically. When it came to rest it stood taller and wider than Laine, a perfectly clear hexagonal column terminating in a 6-sided pyramid at the apex.

Schlatnak drew his pistol and Rayner put out a hand to hold him off.

Laine watched in astonishment as veins of light rose up within the prism and began to form colours. A figure appeared – a ghost locked in glass. It was big, shorter than Laine but big. It's skin was rough and a thick mane of reddish-brown hair spread from its head and down its naked body. The face was animalistic, the hands clawed. Laine recognised the generic form of his species. "It's a Chameloid."

"Male or female?" wondered Rayner.

There wasn't really any answer to that. "I suppose you might consider it a male," he replied.

The Chameloid form moved within the prism and Schlatnak's phaser came up again.

It came forward, out of the prism and it was clearly not a Chameloid like Laine. With every movement it made its surface moved and writhed with crystal spikes like the planet around them.

It stepped toward Laine and solidified when it came to a halt in front of him. "Welcome home, my kin," it said in a deep masculine voice, putting a hand on Laine's shoulder. "I have not laid eyes on one of us for so long. Not since the exodus."

Laine was speechless.

Rayner scanned the being before them and got some curious readings. "What are you?"

It turned and looked down on the small fragile man-creature. "I am the Interactive Central Information System. All that remains of Chameloid society. I am a computer system linked directly to the life force of this planet."

"Artificial Intelligence?" sighed Laine in disappointment.

"More like an artificial representation of a _real_ intelligence," the crystal formation replied.

"Then, Arc _is_ alive?" he asked.

"It lives," the thing acknowledged. "It breathes, and feels."

"Why did the planet reveal itself now?" asked Laine. He had so many questions.

"Because, my kin, our home is dying." The Chameloid form looked saddened by its words. "Its strength is diminishing, its heat fading. Soon – very soon – Arc will be no more. Your myths made true."

"But why? Why is it dying? Isn't there something we can do?"

The form smiled lovingly. "All living things die," he breathed. "She is so old now and her time has come. But we are her children and you, my kin, will live on. You are the legacy of our mother-world. You must leave now. Take yourself away to safer shores and live a good long life."

"But I have questions… There's so much I don't know."

"Laine." It was Rayner. "Time to go. We need to get the science team down here before it's too late."

The Chameloid form turned on the captain and spoke with a growling menace. "Outworlders are not welcome here on Arc." The crystalline form paused to reconsider. "Or, perhaps, now that the end is nearing, it matters not." He waved them away. "She will allow the strangers to leave here alive," he said to Laine. "But take no samples. Leave and be gone."

"Laine. Let's go."

"Captain! I can't leave now… After all this time… This is my homeworld!"

"Your _homeworld_ is about to die, Laine. And we don't know how big a mess it'll make. Don't forget your place. Fall in or my new security chief here will _bring_ you in."

Lt Schlatnak's mouth fell open. Laine made it easy on him and moved to the transport site.

"Don't worry, we'll stick around for the show," said Rayner. "No doubt it'll be entertaining."

The Interactive Central Information System observed them passively as they beamed away.

* * *

Laine was supposed to be grateful when Captain Rayner said he could have access to the external sensors from his room, but he wasn't. Because Tom Clark was escorting him back there now to lock him away again. Why not just throw him in the brig and be done with it?

Tom had spoken briefly with Schlatnak before taking Laine away and hadn't looked at him since. Obviously he knew.

It had always been the decision of his captains to keep his true nature private, and Starfleet even classified his personnel file. It created a tactical advantage, they always said. It was a valid enough reason but there was another. One that he blamed for his own fear of coming out. Trust. After everything that had happened with the Founders and the Dominion, shapeshifters weren't the most popular of races. It scared him more than anything.

He was a social creature. He loved people and friends and the interactions of daily life. But, if every time people looked at him they could see only that he was a shifter like the Founders, then who would ever want to be around him? How could he have friends if he instilled fear in people just because of what he was? And worst of all he couldn't blame them. If a gang of Bajorans, for example, suddenly started quoting the Prophets as they blew up starships and starbases, he'd have a hard time trusting any Bajoran again. It was painful to think about. But the truth was out now and he could only wait for the response.

Or should he wait? Maybe it was better just to find out where he stood now. After all, there was no telling when he'd see the outside of his quarters again.

"I take it Schlatty filled you in?" he said to Tom as they moved through the corridors of the Phantom. "I'm sorry that I had to–"

Tom stopped and turned. He looked grave and… angry?

"I've learned a lot of things about you today, Laine. We heard about your drunken trip to that dive in San Francisco. Romulan Ale for God's sake? You're supposed to _uphold_ our laws, Laine, not break them. You should never have been let onboard this ship and you sure as hell shouldn't have been in charge of an away mission."

He swallowed, wishing he'd kept his mouth shut. "I know. And I wish I cou–"

"Look, I don't wanna hear it, okay? I'm not interested in anymore of your crap. You're false. And everyone's gonna see that."

"False…?" _What the…?_ "I've never lied–"

"Never lied!? …You're lying now with every word! You're lying just standing there! You know, I feel like a fool. I don't even know you. I don't know what the hell you are under all that …fake bulk. Everything about the big hard Laine is a lie."

"Jesus, Tom. You know me. This is me. This is who I am."

"Yeah? And who were you when King went crazy?"

Laine stepped back, pulse racing and confused as hell.

"It wouldn't surprise me if that 'beast' he saw turned out to be you…putting on one of your childish stunts. Getting Merran killed and guilting King into taking himself down."

He couldn't even believe what he was hearing. "What the hell are you talking about, Tom? This is insane." He was growing angry now. "You've lost it, man."

Tom stared back defiantly. One hand was resting on the butt of his phaser pistol. "There's your room. Get in."

Laine got the hell out of that corridor and into his quarters.

"They'll find out what you did, Laine. …Then they'll lock you away."

The door swished shut and he was alone.

* * *

**Willow**

Kimberly was taken and the fire door swung closed with a bang. The bells stopped ringing.

Without a second's thought Willow blew out the candle, tossed it away and burst through the door. She was no scared little girl! She was a witch! A Slayer's witch! And no Slayer would back down when a friend was in need.

Willow leapt into the void and fell. She fell like a bag-full of bricks and the air rushed up against her. She felt a sudden flash of déjà vu as she recalled the Drop Zone in Frisco. Which was worse? Seeing the world zipping at you at light speed or seeing nothing but blackness? With no clue what was below or how fast it was coming up to meet her, she decided it was the latter. Her heart was racing at a dizzying pace. She was falling too far. She should be halfway through the planet by now. Just when she feared she might actually spend the rest of her days this way, a tiny spec of light appeared beneath her. It grew quickly and became a square of colour and –

Damn it was coming so fast… Too fast!

She hit something soft and rolled, fell and hit the floor.

Willow gave a yelp and checked herself. She should have been splattered all over the floor but she was fine. A little winded, yet fine. _But where…?_

She looked up and realised with a cold swell that she was back in reception. The blood red carpet beneath her, a sofa – her crash mat – beside her, the reception desk at her feet. She turned over and saw only a ceiling above her head. No dark hole. A single wall light shed a flickering dull glow. She heard a muffled cry and looked ahead in time to see Kim, almost hidden by the black hands of darkness, disappear down a corridor – dragged away into shadow.

Willow shot up and ran to the corridor opening and stopped. The dark of the corridor went untouched by the light of the blinking wall lamp. It was forbidding, yet she had no intention of backing down.

So, she'd made a mistake with the space jellies. She was still a damn fine witch. And this spell was as easy as flicking a switch. With all sense of ego forgotten, she calmed her mind and called out:

"Aradia, Goddess of the lost, the path is murky, the woods are dense, darkness pervades. I beseech thee... bring the light!"

The green ball of light exploded in front of her, ricocheted within the corridor and smashed a hole in the wall. In a green glare, the wall opened up and poured out a flood of squirming cockroaches.

Willow spun around and tried to retreat back to reception but something happened that defied all reason. The corridor seemed to have tilted and she couldn't make it up. She fell, feeling the floor grow steeper. Below her, the cockroaches oozed out of the wall and flowed like water down the corridor. And now she was slipping towards them. Her feet scrambled for purchase on the carpet, her hands pushing against the floor to keep from falling, but she slid further. The corridor continued to tilt. Her guiding light fell from the hole in the wall and tumbled down through the clattering waterfall of insects until it came to a dead stop at the end of the hall. There, its soft lambent glow illuminated a double door that was fast becoming the bottom of a deep square well.

Willow lost the fight against gravity as the hall rolled vertical and she slipped. She dropped fast down the carpet and into the swarm of roaches that prickled against her skin. Beneath her, the double door swung downward and her guiding light dropped like a glowing green tennis ball into the room beyond.

Will gasped and tried harder to stop her descent, no longer concerned with the roaches. For, beyond the double doors beneath her feet, was something that held a far more horrifying repulsion. Her misfired guiding light revealed not a room, but a pulsating furry mass of fungus.

She pushed herself to the right and clawed out, catching herself on the frame of a wooden door. She stopped and slammed against the wall. The hall was almost vertical now and the cockroaches were disappearing into the hairy fungal ocean below.

She tried to pull herself up – to reach for the door handle over her head – but her muscles were too shaky – too pumped with adrenaline to be any good.

Beyond her feet, a dozen clawed furry arms reached up into the corridor. The arms of fungus came up for her, scratching at the walls and doors with long sharp talons.

Willow made a desperate grab for the handle with the magic of her mind. Trying to turn it and open the door (which would have to open upwards). Instead, the handle was crushed and crunched into the wood of the door with a crack. The latch caved in and freed the door. With all her strength she pulled herself up and through like a tired animal dragging itself through a cat flap.

Expecting to fall into the room sideways and hit a wall, she was nauseated by the strange twist that brought her into the hotel room's lounge perfectly horizontally. She rolled across the carpet and came to a shaky stop. She could see her surroundings clearly – the room had lights. The power was back.

At the door came a creeping series of scratching sounds and she saw the clawed arms of dark green and yellow fungus hooking onto the door frame where the latch was smashed inward.

Tired and scared, Willow pushed out with her power to slam the door but her mystical energies seemed to be all over the place lately and the door whipped shut and splintered into the frame, sending a shock wave out that cracked the wall plaster.

The clawed fingers of fungus that were reaching in were severed and hit the floor. Their shape was lost as the fungus landed and broke up across the red carpet. It was still moving – spreading – growing!

Willow scrambled up and went through the nearest door, hoping for the bedroom. It was a bathroom. She reached for a desk chair and pulled it into the bathroom, using it to prop against the door handle inside. She could have tried the spell she knew for making the door a wall, but the way her magic was playing up (or the way she was messing it up) she dared not take the risk. She took a neatly folded towel from the rack over the radiator and stuffed it into the gap beneath the door. Willow made an unsteady step away from the door and collapsed to her ass between the toilet and bath. She was shaking, unable to recall the last time she'd felt so afraid. No, not afraid. That was such a weak word for the terror that was gripping her. She was losing control. Cockroaches and Demon fungus… an entire building that defied sense. A hotel transferred brick by brick to this world from the very bowels of hell. And the one thing that gave her confidence, strength – her Wiccan powers – were failing her at every turn. Maybe she wasn't such a great and mighty witch after all.

The lights cut out again and the bathroom became as cold, hard and pitch as a deep rock cave.

Will felt for another towel on the rack and put it in the sink. Taking the risk, she used the tiniest bit of magic to set a small fire in the towel's fabric. Soon she had a cheap torch to light the bathroom as the towel burned away in the sink. Out the window there were no signs of stars or anything but blackness. She was growing weary of the blackness. It was like an infection here. It comes, it goes, it spreads… it steals people.

_Goddess, Kimberly…_

She was supposed to have been going to her rescue.

_What now…?_

Willow returned to her little place twixt the tub and toilet. She felt a little safer there, tight between the pot and plastic. Fortified.

_What the hell do I do now? I can't stay here like this…_

She imagined the fungus in the room growing and spreading out over the floor and furniture, covering the outside of her door. Entombing her in a living, stinking, furry mould. She shivered.

Willow gave a startled spasm as her comm badge suddenly erupted with loud static. It hissed at her – a high-pitched shhhhhhhh that invaded her ears.

She hit the device on her breast. "Hello?" Her voice was shaking_. Dammit, what's wrong with me?_ More static. "Hello? Anyone there?"

Static. Then the hiss changed. Shh-Sh-Shhh-Sh-Sh. She began to feel some hope. And then a deep distant voice like the rolling thunder of a thousands souls in torment:

'We are all here … _Willow_.'

She tore the badge from her clothing and threw it into the sink to burn in the flames. She put her hands against her ears to calm her nerves, to hold herself together. The static was gone but she could still hear the piercing hiss inside her head.

It took a few minutes but she finally began to feel a little better. A little more in control. She leaned back and saw the mirror on the ceiling.

_Pink champagne on ice…_

She ignored the lyric. Her reflection stared back at her – a traumatised frightened little girl looking down into her eyes. She watched it, expecting it to perform some unnatural act; expecting a fresh injection of terror.

Nothing.

She huddled back into her little pot and plastic fort, searching for some thought that would help her situation. Some idea what this hotel was, some idea how she could get her mojo back. But no thoughts (no useful ones) came to her. All she could think was how much she needed her books. Giles. The Slayer. There was no sound from outside the room, only the faint sizzle of the burning towel in the sink and the smell of the smoke that wisped up and out the exterior vent. A tiny vent no person could escape through. She leaned back against the cold wall. Soon, her head grew heavy, her sight dim.

_Hotel California_…

She shook away the thought of those eerie lyrics and, with no energy left to fight, closed her eyes and prayed for a sleep free from nightmares.

* * *

**Xander**

Startled by his alarm call, Xander woke, swung his heavy legs out of the bunk and rubbed his head. Then he saw his feet. Why were his toes so far from his legs?

"Great Jumpin' Jiminy!" He tumbled back in his bunk and saw. The hairs on the back of his hands were white and thicker… his body too. His fingernails were claws, his feet, like that horrible part of American Werewolf, had stretched. Xander struggled out of bed and flip-flopped his way to the washroom with his clown-shoe feet. What he saw there in the mirror did little to calm him. All his dark hair was snow white. His face was bearded again with a thick white scruff giving him the look of a homeless Santa. And his mouth…just looked… wrong.

He parted his lips and was greeted by a front top set of fresh-out-of-a-nightmare Bugs Bunny buck teeth.

* * *

The next he knew he was being dragged through the ship, kicking and screaming hysterically into sickbay. The young Bajoran doctor recoiled as a security officer and an ensign from engineering wrestled him through the door and deployed him face-down on a bed, holding him secure with four strong arms as he thrashed and howled into the pillow.

"We found him flailing around down the hall!" the security officer called out over Xander's wild cries.

Doctor Galeia's face twisted, completely pickled in his own surprise, as he tried to digest the madness unfolding in his quiet little medical bay. Then he remembered his job. He waved at the attractive young nurse. "Restrain him!"

The busty blonde assistant told the officers to step back, and then hit Xander with a forcefield that pinned him flat on his face.

The doctor shot him in the arse with a hard sedative and he blanked out.

* * *

The next clear and conscious perception Xander had was of being laid out on his back feeling warm and fuzzy, the foggy faces of Doctor Galeia Yanek and Chief Engineer Joshua Carver hovering over him.

"What do you think?" said the bearded engineer.

"It's worth a shot," replied the doc.

"I'll get things rolling." Carver disappeared and the doors whooshed open and shut.

Dr Galeia leaned over him. "Don't worry, son. Got a plan to fix you right up."

_Thank the heavens…_

* * *

He came to. It was like waking up after a heavy night at The Bronze. He had no clue how long he'd been in a drug-induced haze but now he was awake and alert. Positively bright eyed and bushy tailed. … _Like… a rabbit? …_

_Oh, dear lord, no…_

It all came back to him.

Two faceless men in hazmat suits scooped him up off the bed by his armpits. They ferried him like infected meat to the transporter room – the last place in the universe he wanted to see again – and dropped him onto the circular pad. Galeia and Carver were there and Xander figured this was 'the plan'. He was comforted to see Anya present, offering him a supportive nail-biting.

"You'll be pleased to know there's actually a chance in hell this could work," said the transporter guy.

"Really? Thanks for that." Xander was still shaking from adrenaline, panic, and drugs. He straightened out his bed vest and saw the white hairs on the back of his clawed hands. "Hey, that doctor said this would fix me."

"He said _that?_" Carver glowered at the young doctor.

Galeia shrugged as if to reply, _Yeah, I said that. So what._

Carver looked miffed. "Well, go on then. Let him have it."

"Why am I getting the impression you people aren't exactly taking my predicament seriously?"

"Honestly?" replied the chief engineer. "Look, I've worked with fish people, cat people, dog people, and even the Elephant Man. You're not that special. Energise him already, Dwayne."

The controls hummed to life as Dwayne the transporter guy ran three fingers up the panel, converting Xander into a subatomic matter stream and bouncing him around the pattern buffer. Carver stepped in to do his thing, percolating Xander through the biofilter, before letting Dwayne slide his fingers back down the panel.

Xander Harris re-materialised in one piece and saw their faces. There were gasps all round.

Anya screamed and tore out of the transporter room.

Xander watched her flee and the reaction stunned him, like a hare caught in the headlights. Something (he dreaded to guess what) seemed to have gone terribly awry. He raised his hands but instead of his hands, the hands of a white beast came up before his eyes.

_No. Those things are not my hands…_

They _were_ connected to his arms…

He fondled at his own face with the fat furry paws and the air caught in his lungs. More fur. And his face… all stretched and deformed. His heart galloped around his chest and tried to jump the fence.

_I'm not an animal; I'm a human being…_

He turned his right foot up toward his face. They were the giant fur-covered feet of Br'er Rabbit.

_No, …I'm definitely an animal now._

Xander staggered from the transporter pad and into the wall. "Oh…my…God…"

* * *

Carver and the doc carried him flat into sickbay again and deposited him back on the bed.

Xander was trapped in a dizzy narcosis, his limbs threshing about drunkenly. "Where's Anya? Anya!"

"She doesn't want to see you right now, buddy," Galeia told him, and gave him a pat on the chest. "Just relax for me, okay, or I'll have the nurse here zap a tranquilliser in your furry butt-cheek."

Xander's oblong features furrowed into a grimace and he settled down reluctantly. It was then that curiosity struck. "I wanna see."

The doctor hissed through his teeth. "Not a good plan, my man," he replied with puckered lips and a shake of the head. "Besides, you're likely to trip yourself with those big kangaroo stompers you've got there."

Xander eyeballed his long hairy tootsies, no longer identifiable as the feet of a human. "I don't care," he said shakily. "I need to see."

Doctor Galeia watched with cool indifference as the nurse helped Xander over to the full-length mirror. He looked at his reflection and his floppy ears sagged down.

He looked like a man in a bunny costume, but with a disturbingly human-like face which was just barely recognisable as his own. His forehead, eyes, and the bridge of his nose were distended – bulging out so severely it made the Klingons look normal. His eyes were huge and far apart, sitting high where his forehead had reduced back. His nose arced and stretched down to a mouth almost as it was before, aside from the goofy gnashers. The rest of him was obscured by a full coat of pure-white fur. He twisted his back end around. Bushy tail.

Xander stared at the sight before him, and hoped to high heaven he was on Candid Camera. Because if this… if this was _real_…

He felt himself burning up and he wanted desperately to tear the bunny suit away. Scratching around his stomach for a seam, he was stricken to find the fur rooted deep within his own flesh. He looked up into his reflection's big fearful eyes and popped out a pellet.

The big round dropping hit the deck with a thud.

"Dude, that was gross," said the doc.

His nurse pointed down at the hot brown golf ball. "I'm not picking that up."

Xander was full up with too much fright and disbelief to make room for embarrassment.

The door rolled open and Captain Rayner marched in. "Ho-ho-holy stars and garters!" His yawning eyes tried to take Xander in. "What in the Sam Hill…?"

Galeia threw his boss a salute. "Hey, captain man. How mad is this?"

"What the hell happened to him?"

"He tried to bring an animal up from the surface," the doctor said with reproach, and performed a duh-face for his captain.

"There was a reason we told you to beam up one at a time, Harris. We're damn lucky we didn't end up with some kind of freaky four-in-one away team mutant amalgamorph. A…a Laine-XanderBerg-Clegg. Now _that_ would have been a problem."

"You…don't see this as a problem?" asked a vexed Xander. "_I_ call it a problem. I call it a major freakin' calamity. Emergency stations, anyone?"

The captain's face remained stern. "Suck it up, boy. Are you a man or a mouse?"

"He's a rabbit, sir."

"Well, pull yourself together and report to the warren when you're done here." He headed out. Stopped. Did he just…?

Captain Rayner looked back to see them regarding him with looks of surprise that only confirmed his imagined blunder. "Did I say warren? I meant the Dungeon." With that, he left.

Alexander Harris – half man, half Peter Rabbit – perched his furry buttocks on the bed and sagged. "Why is that man such a jackass?"

The doc checked Xander's medical reports. "I hear he's Canadian," he offered.

"Oh." As if that was some kind of reason.

"Good news is your not infectious so everyone else is safe," (That did nothing to comfort Xander) "Means I can discharge you. Frankly there just isn't enough room in here to build you a hutch."

Xander closed his big round eyes and dropped his oversized head into his paws. _This isn't happening… This isn't my life…_

"You know what I find helps in these situations…?"

Xander squinted up at the irksome doctor. "You mean those situations when you also mutate into a rabbit?"

"No, but when I'm down and feel like killing myself–"

"I don't wanna killing myself."

"Sure, sure. So, what I find helps is… getting seriously laid. And, man, you're a rabbit now, so…" He mime-humped the air like a madman to the left and to the right.

Xander couldn't take any more. "I gotta go."

* * *

With difficulty he managed to trundle clumsily to PRD on his big hind feet. On arriving in the Dungeon he was further vexed to learn that Anya had taken a sick day. Especially when Rayner made _him_ report for work even though he was the one actually sick!

He was still in his bed pants and vest, as his uniform no longer fit, and Mei-Li was acting weird. Keeping her distance and watching him strangely. He would probably have to get used to that, he considered. But the twins… they at least made him feel normal, and spoke to him like nothing had changed, which was good as he had something to ask them.

He wasn't feeling all that self-confidant and was still pretty shaky. Twitchy. …_Rabbity_.

"Okay, so, twins… Twin one and twin two…" He put his paws together in prayer. "I have a question."

"We've got an answer," they beamed.

"You can make me normal, right? Something spelly?"

The light in their eyes faded. "Sorry, Xander, but…no," they answered. "And, as far as we know, if it isn't a supernatural mutation you're screwed anyway."

His nose twitched frantically and he scratched at his hairy brow. _Hairy…?_

It was getting worse. He was mutating. Fast. His face was now as furry as the rest of him and… was he getting thinner? No – his thighs were, in fact, much fatter, but his arms… so much thinner.

"Hey," said Mia in a soothing tone. "We're glad you made it in today. We're terribly short-staffed at the moment. We could really use your…input."

He was handed a small padd (No thumbs!) and he had to clamp it awkwardly between both paws.

Ella approached him suddenly and ran her three fingers through his fur. "Isn't hair just the most attractive thing you've ever seen, sister?"

Mia traced a finger around his mouth. "I like his teeth."

Xander's hands were full. "This isn't helping."

Ella whispered, "We're fish girls, you're a rabbit boy. Maybe we can help in ways you can't imagine…"

Mia reached for one of his long ears and drew it to her lips. "We could make a school of bunny-fish together."

_Wha…!?_

The doors parted with a swish and his ears spun to face them. He turned to the entrance.

It was the worst possible sight in the world to see at that moment. It was Anya. In uniform. She must have decided to come in after all.

Xander flinched, and prayed she hadn't seen anything, or that it didn't look like anything was–

The expression on her face was at once open and stricken, then twisted in outrage. She whirled around and stormed off.

Xander dropped the padd and gave chase. In the rush he fell over himself and into the corridor. It was a job just to get back on his feet, and then a real labour to run after her with his massive feet getting in their own way. He would never catch up with her.

By the time the elevator reached their floor, Xander had faced facts. He knew what he had to do.

The turbolift door opened and Xander bounded out, bunny-hopping through the halls of the Phantom.

* * *

Xander bounced around a corner and caught sight of Anya tuning down the aisle towards their room. He leapt forward and vaulted down the hall on his hind legs…

Until he was absconded by two security officers who rounded the corner, caught him mid-bounce under his arms, and carried him off backwards.

They took him to see the captain, where he was asked a lot of questions about Laine and his performance back in the Hotel California. By the time he got away and got back to finding Anya, he had changed severely. His legs had twisted into the true hinds of an animal, his body had grown thin and his head was all rabbit. Right down to the whiskers. He no longer had to look in a mirror. He could feel the changes. And his mind was trying its best to settle into a comfortable bed of denial.

He bounced up to the cabin he shared with Anya and found two officers guarding the door. The same two who'd carried him to Rayner's office.

He waited but they didn't move. "Can I get through?" He sounded strange and lispy.

"Nope," said the first guard.

"I need to see Anya. My _girlfriend_. So… excuse me, please."

"We can't do that. See, your _girlfriend_ just got a restraining order against you."

"She did what? …Why…?" _Why do you think, dumbass?_

"You're not allowed anywhere near her."

"Your quarters are that way," said the second guard, pointing down the hall.

Xander was staggered. How could Anya go this far? "I need to speak to her. Just a minute, guys, please."

The first guard crossed his arms. "It's not gonna happen, fuzzball."

"Guys, come on, _please_. You don't know what I'm going through here."

"I don't think he's hearing you, Price," the second said to the first.

Price pointed a finger at Xander's twitchy nose. "Hop on, bunny boy. She doesn't want anything more to do with you. Ever." He prodded the finger painfully into the ball of Xander's shoulder.

That was it!

His ears shot back and a low growl rumbled in his throat. The men knew something bad was coming. Before they could react, Xander bucked with his powerful legs and drop-kicked Price. He spun in the air and landed in a superhero crouch.

_The Amazing Rabbit-Man_

Price was out for the count when he hit the deck. The second guard pulled his gun and Xander, with lightening speed, tornedo-kicked the weapon away, whirled around again, and tore his claws across the man's face.

The guard cried out as blood erupted from the deep lacerations in his face and he fell, pressing at the wounds.

Xander saw what he'd done and stumbled back into the wall. He hadn't thought. He'd just acted. It was instinct. Like an animal.

The slashed guard was trying to pry the pistol from Price's holster when the door opened and she saw him, and what he'd done. _Anya…_

_What now?_ he wondered.

_Run!_

Xander leapt down the corridor, bounce and bounce and bounce, until a surge of heat struck him in the back and he dropped on his furry face. He managed to roll onto his side and look back as his vision clouded. He saw Anya kneeling beside the guards. The phaser in her hand.

He curled up and hoped it was set to kill.

And then black.

* * *

_Welcome to the brig, Xander Harris_. That's where he'd woken up; in a compact cell barred by a halo of lights at the opening. He moved from the bunk/seat to the forcefield and turned his lengthy ears outward. He could hear voices close by.

"He was trying to get to his girlfriend when it happened," someone was saying.

"He's dangerous." – that was Captain Rayner – "And not just violent. I've got enough problems right now, the last thing I need is a gaggle of randy rabbits running amok all over my ship like Tribbles."

"I think it's a herd, sir," said the other one. "Or a colony."

"What?"

"Rabbits, sir."

"Right." The captain shuffled. "And there's the restraining order. I have to uphold that."

"What would you like us to do with him, Captain?"

Rayner shuffled some more and sighed. "Get him away from here for me. Put him on the shuttle or something."

Slowly, as if in a dream, Xander hopped back to the bunk/seat. It was becoming difficult not to use all fours now. His arms were shortening, his head growing bigger. He wasn't even humanoid anymore. He was fast becoming the biggest bunny in the known universe. Would he one day forget he was ever human? Would he be so far gone he actually thought he _was_ a rabbit?

He lay out on the bunk, not knowing what to do anymore. He didn't know what to think. He still couldn't accept the situation he was in, and now this idea of sending him away…

He wished he could go home – back to Sunnydale – back to his old life with Buffy, Giles and Willow. And Anya. He'd never take her for granted again if he could just go back. Back when everything was good, and everything that wasn't could be fought and defeated.

"They're sending you to Earth."

Xander raised his head and saw Mia and Ella Taro. The twins were holding onto each other. At least someone didn't want him banished from the ship.

"Maybe somebody there can fix you," they suggested.

Xander let his head fall back on the cushion. "Maybe it'll be too late by then."

* * *

**Laine**

Arc, the planet formerly known as HC-1316 Alpha, was at the end of its life. The core of the living planet cooled extraordinarily fast as the hours dragged on. The shifting landscape was crawling to a stop – stiffening and solidifying more and more as the time passed – and Laine watched it all from his quarters on deck 2 of the USS Phantom.

He took a shower, squeezing his large frame into the compact cubicle and managed a few minutes sleep in the bunk that was a good 12 inches short for him. He could have shrunk himself easily to make both tasks easier, but he never did. Because that was never how he saw himself. He wasn't some shapeless creature. He was Laine. The big guy. The man-mountain. Not merely by choice but by need. This was how he felt comfortable. This was the true self he needed to see in the mirror to know that it was him looking back. This was how he should have been born.

He paced for a time, cried for a time, felt rage for a time, broke the wash basin mirror in a second.

Now, though, he was calm. Sat on his bed – just a single bunk – watching the screen over his desk across the narrow room as the homeworld of his race faded away before his eyes.

His door chimed once.

_What now?_ He got up, back in his loose pants and grey vest, and opened the door. At least they weren't locking him in yet.

Tom was back. Clark pushed by him and into the room. "Shut the door."

His voice sounded wrong and, as Laine looked over, Tom grew a foot and filled out. His uniform became dark brown fur, his mouth became a short snout filled with sharp teeth, and his eyes turned yellow. It wasn't Tom. It was a Chameloid. A _real_ one.

"Who _are_ you?"

"A friend," he answered in an old growling voice (It had the manor and form of a male). "Though, among our people, we are all kin. It is good to see you again. You've… changed. You've chosen male. I thought you might! You look healthy."

"I don't know you…"

"No, but I knew your parents. And I saw you once when you were just a few days old before they let you loose on the universe."

Laine was stunned. "How…? Why are you here?"

"Arc is dying, young one. Some of us lived here once. Some of us came to say goodbye."

"There are others? Here? I thought I was the last…"

"No, no. There are still a few of us around. But I came here to get you out."

"What?"

"Look at you. A prisoner in your own home. But this is not your home. You don't belong among these Terrans. They are a war-mongering child-race who see themselves as the Gods of the galaxy. They hate all who are dissimilar from or superior to themselves. We cannot remain here. Come with me, brother."

Laine paced away, rubbing his stubbled head and wrestled with the notion. "I…I can't."

"You _can_, young brother. And you will. If you knew what these humans were saying about you you wouldn't be so quick to push me away. They are not your people. They do not care about you. And they _will_ forsake you."

"I don't believe that."

"Then come with me to your Terran captain and hear the words from _his_ mouth." The old Chameloid shifted and became Commander Varik. He crossed the room, the door opened, and he offered the corridor to Laine. "You do remember how to mould yourself, do you not?"

He sounded just like the Vulcan. He must have been on board for some time, observing. Like a spy. Laine pulled back further into the room. "I can't do that. I have an agreement with these people. The penalty for shifting–"

"_Penalty!?_" He moved back into the room and the door closed. "_Penalty!?_ …The Terrans would punish you for doing what your kind do naturally? They tie your hands like a slave and make you dance for them as they see fit! What creatures are they to restrain you like an animal? You are a Chameloid!"

Laine sagged and turned away.

The elder moved closer. "I have spoken with the Interface on Arc, brother. The Terran captain has already destroyed whatever contract or agreement you have with him." He put a paw on Laine's shoulder. "You only need to do this once, brother. See the truth for yourself and then, if you wish to remain here, I won't press you any further."

Laine looked into the yellow eyes of the Chameloid. He didn't know where to place his trust. In the crew he had known for a short time whose company he had enjoyed? People he thought were friends who now seemed to be turning their backs on him.

Or this stranger? A member of his own species who had taken a great risk in trying to free him from his torment, but still a person he knew nothing about.

Neither option appealed. He couldn't put much faith in the stranger without knowing more about him. "You said you knew my parents?"

He nodded. "Oriella, the Fair and Thoughtful," he said wistfully. "And Bardi, the Strong-handed Engineer."

He really _did_ know them. "What do they call _you_?"

"I am Heban, …the Impatient Smuggler!" He grinned. "And you," said the old one. "You they named Lalianna. Your mother expected you to take the likeness of a female but your father knew better! I bet he called you Lalan, didn't he?"

Laine was speechless once again.

"Yes," nodded the Chameloid. "Lalan. I think, if they saw you today, they would say 'Lalan, the Strong and Just'! On Arc, you would have been a great lawkeeper." His face fell dark with melancholy. "And now you are Laine. A Chameloid under the heel of Terrans. Will you not come with me, my long-unseen brother? Come to your captain…and know the truth."

* * *

Commander Varik was at his station on the bridge studying scans of Arc's surface when Doctor Singh called him from sickbay. It was an urgent private medical matter, according to Singh. The captain was in his office and Varik gave Nog the bridge.

It drew a few raised eyebrows when, moments after departing, Varik returned with Lieutenant Schlatnak on his heels. They headed straight for the readyroom.

Captain Rayner was sat at his desk making reports when Varik and the new security chief entered. But the new chief was the former chief and Laine watched through Schlatnak's black almond eyes as the fake Varik addressed the captain.

"Lieutenant Schlatnak and I have been…discussing…the situation regarding Laine, Captain."

Rayner sat back and examined them both. "What about him?"  
"The lieutenant is of the opinion that Laine should be transferred to the brig. He believes that Laine's recent criminal activity on Earth, and his attack on crewmembers during our encounter with the nonionic lifeforms, warrant his incarceration. Laine may represent a danger to the ship and crew. Until we can determine what transpired on the away mission he is uncomfortable with allowing Laine to remain among the general populous."

Rayner sighed and leaned on his desk. "I can understand that." He looked to Varik. "And what do you think?"

"Perhaps we are taking this too far. I fail to see the justification in confining him to quarters, Captain, when there is no significant evidence to suggest he has acted inappropriately."

Laine watched for the man's response with a turning stomach.

There was a flash of rising anger in the man's eyes as he turned for a padd to present to Varik. "This is the report from the San Francisco authorities. Laine was the senior officer – the _ringleader_ – of a small group of _my_ people when they procured an _illegal_ substance, and attacked a number of customers in a bar they had no business being in. When something like that happens once, I call it inappropriate. The second time he's put in charge of a group of my people, within days, two valued crewmembers die. I call that cause for concern. I call that grounds for detainment."

"Grounds enough to detain him in the brig, Captain?" asked Varik.

"Well… we've gone far enough that I can't give him any slack now. If we let him out of our sight he can disappear. He can become anyone… and then he's gone." He stood up. "The lieutenant here is our new chief of security and if he feels safer having Laine in the brig then I'm inclined to agree. Besides, I've been hearing disturbing reports about his conduct on Lambda Hromi Three." He pointed to a shell-shocked Laine. "I want Harris interviewed as soon as possible. Find out what exactly went on down there. Now, if you don't mind, I'm up to my ass in paperwork."

* * *

"You see, brother?"

Laine was Laine again as he glanced awkwardly at the fake Varik. They were sneaking back to his room from their meeting with Rayner.

"Today they take your freedom. Tomorrow things will only escalate further. We have our chance to leave together now. Come with me, Lalan. My son awaits us on his ship. Return to your people."

Laine struggled with the decision. He didn't want to leave. He wanted his life back. If things worked out, he would be cleared. Especially when they talked to Harris and went back for Clegg. By tomorrow it could all have blown over.

They heard footsteps, very fast, heading from a side corridor ahead and Laine realised that Varik would know Singh hadn't called him by now.

Heban became Chameloid again, and rushed to the junction in the corridor. Laine ran after him to hold him back but Tom Clark came tearing around the corner with a phaser pistol and took a staggering palm-punch to the sternum that threw him back into the wall.

The phaser went off as Tom hit the deck and caught Laine's shoulder, spinning him to the ground.

The stun beam shook him a little and he tried to clear his disoriented head. He saw Varik leap around the bend and struggle with Heban. He knew Vulcans were strong but Heban was inches taller and much more muscled. The Chameloid slammed Varik into the bulkhead and was hit by the shock of a Vulcan nerve-pinch. Before the blood cut off from his brain, Heban threw up an arm and stabbed his claws into Varik's throat.

"NO!"

Laine's cry was in vain as the Vulcan fell choking to the deck; green blood oozing from his neck.

Laine forced himself to his feet. He had to get to Varik; stop the bleeding!

Tom came to and saw Varik squirming on the floor with blood pouring out between the fingers at his throat. He saw the big hairy shifter standing over him and Laine coming at them. He aimed at the attacking Chameloid and fired.

Laine was almost there when Heban took the shot to the chest. The old one was knocked back to the wall but didn't fall. He roared and rushed at Clark, and Laine tried to reach him before–

Tom reset the phaser and fired again. Heban howled and Laine knew the second shot was set to kill.

The Chameloid dropped to his knees and slowly keeled over. He landed sideways on the carpet and didn't move again.

Laine could only stare down at his dead kin for long arduous seconds. When he looked up, Varik had stopped moving. He stepped toward him but Tom called out. His phaser was aimed at the horrified Laine and he halted his advance, putting out both hands in surrender.

"On…your…knees," ordered Tom as he struggled to breathe.

Laine gave in. He couldn't image things getting any worse but he had to show submission. It was the only way to keep a strong defence come the trial. Always be compliant, he reasoned. Be calm, submissive, and never cross the line. _The truth will come out_, he told himself. _Don't make it harder for the truth to find its way into the light_.

He lowered himself onto his knees and locked both hands behind his head, closing his eyes.

"Clark to sickbay." Tom coughed with pain. "Medical emergency, deck two section three. Officer down." He looked across at Laine with hatred burning his orbs. "You said _I'd_ lost it. …You're the one who's lost it now, tough guy. Whatever you had planned with your shapeshifter buddies. It's over. You're through."

* * *

**Willow**

Willow opened her eyes to the comforting glow of natural light.

What a dream she'd had! Time-warped into a bizarre star-trekking future with space ships, aliens and Demons. Abandoned in a hotel of horror on some distant–

Bathroom. She was in a bathroom. The hotel bathroom. Her dream was a memory. It all happened. Her head fell in her hands and she moaned.

_Hell with this!_

Sore from the hard floor, Willow clambered up and stretched, rubbing her flattened rear. The towel in the sink had been reduced to ash and the fire had burned out. Beside her, a bathtub enclosed in a frosted shower curtain. To her right, the door. No sign of the fungussy mould encroaching on her hideout during the night. She realised then that the thought of the fungus, the roaches, even the deep vacuums of shadow no longer instilled her with fear. She didn't feel much of anything about them now. Maybe it was the light of day, maybe she had dreamed all the fear and tension away. Or perhaps she was just tired of it gnawing on her nerves.

From the small window at the foot of the tub a plain white daylight brought an oddly vague incandescence into the room. The glass was bubbled and distorted but there was something a little too bland about the light. Where the hell was the Phantom? she wondered suddenly. She must have been here for hours now. Surely they should have sent the shuttle down by now?

Something popped behind her. Willow spun and saw a gentle rustle of the shower curtain around the tub. Something in the bath went pop. Pop…pop. Water rippled. A shadow played across the inside of the curtain. Something was in the tub.

She held her breath and waited for it… but her fear didn't come. She felt strangely…disconnected. The thought that Clegg was lost or dead didn't even break through the indifference she was overcome by. Plus she had a good idea what to expect. She'd seen The Shining.

"Okay. Evil old wrinkly centrefold or a bath full of blood," she guessed, and reached out for the break in the curtain. "Evil old wrinkly, bloodbath. Evil old wrinkly, bloodbath." She held off, unsure if she really wanted to risk losing her handle on the fear again. "Okay. Okay. I'm ready. I'm psyched. Not gonna freak out. Not gonna scare me. Here we go. …Any second now…" She threw the curtain open. "Ha!"

The tub was half filled with water and layered with bubbles. No blood, no freaky old woman. She bent down and squinted. The bubbles were a million eyes, blinking and moving, and looking right at her. "Huh."

The communicator she'd tossed in the sink came alive again with static and those haunting voices whispered out to her, menacing, taunting, agonising–

She took the melted badge from the sink and dropped it into the tub, bursting a dozen creepy eyes. She made her way to the door, had a thought, then went back to the bath and pulled the plug.

Outside, the guest room was as she'd last seen it. At the exit where the mouldy claws had fallen there were now only black stains on the carpet. She reached forward with her hand, taking hold of the entire door with her mind, and tore it free. It flew passed her and crashed into a couch and table. Holding the doorframe she stepped out into the hall. It was horizontal. There was no sign of the cockroaches around the hole in the wall and the double doors at the far end of the hall were closed again. She saw now that a sign on the doors read: BALLROOM.

Her ears strained but there were voices down the corridor. The sound of live music from the ballroom. Looking down at those doors made her dizzy and off-balance but something was beyond. She should go there. Buffy would go there.

She turned away and headed toward reception, and then stopped. What was she doing? Answers. She wanted answers. Forcing her legs to backtrack, she walked into the corridor to the very end and stopped at the ballroom doors. Music was louder here. Sounded like something from before the war. Swing music. It was familiar to her. Her dad had old LPs from the 30's; bands with Jewish musicians like Benny Goodman; the 'King of Swing'. It did sound like one of his tunes. 'Don't Be That Way' or something.

Willow took a deep breath and pushed herself through the doors. A modest dance hall appeared before her. People dressed in old wartime clothes danced. There were no chairs or tables, just a small bar to her right against the wall. She frowned and looked back at the doors. They were still closed. Had they even opened? She moved like in a dream through the slow dancers. Mouths moved in silent conversation. Spike-heeled dancing shoes and wingtip swing shoes moved soundlessly across the hard floor. No one smiled. No one saw her. She was a ghost and the band's music sounded a million light-years away in another dimension.

She drifted like an apparition across the hall to the bar. A woman was there alone. A bartender drying off a glass with a cloth. And behind the bar, above the shelves of spirits, a large water tank glowing with blue inner light. Within, billowing like living umbrellas, a bloom of jellyfish. It was like an aquarium display, but it only reminded Willow of the nonionic lifeforms she had almost wiped out. There was a glass on the bar containing half-drunk liquor. Willow felt like she was in a dream and for some reason felt the need to reach out for the glass. Her hand passed right through it like a hologram. Or like _she_ was a hologram. She looked up and the lights were out in the tank. The water was cloudy, green, and full of organic debris. All the jellies were crowded together on the surface of the water – all dead.

_Not very subtle_

She turned her head to the right and saw the woman there was a strange old lady with a cracked face. She looked like a living zombie and her eyes were puffed out like ping-pongs. Willow had always had a thing about overly wrinkled old women and bulgy eyes.

_Funny, that_.

The night before, Clegg had grown tired of being toyed with. Now it was Willow who was weary.

_Better late than never_

These ghost people got off on treating _her_ like some feeble spirit?

_Time to go Carrie on their asses!_

She balled her hands into fists, turned away from the bar, and gasped.

Everyone in the ballroom stood facing her. Silent, motionless, staring right at her. The cold creeps hit her suddenly at the sight of them, and the invasiveness of it. Slowly, she rolled her head back to the left and pulled away from the strange lady right beside her glaring right into her eyes with her own bulbous orbs.

"Okay, this's unnerving," she muttered. "Full spook-marks for the creepy flash mob." She'd seen many videos of flash mobs while on the Enterprise and Phantom, having left her own time before their creation. She'd wondered what it would've been like to experience one first-hand. This wasn't quite what she'd had in mind.

The band was silent. The players on the stage, like all the others, ogled her with that same menacing expression, devoid of emotion, devoid of humanity.

Then she saw something else that made her squint. The tall windows along the wall behind her, partly covered by long curtains, were casting strips of light against the opposite wall broken by stripes of shadow. One such shady stripe across from her – behind the horde of eyes that burned into her – was darker than the others. Almost… no, it _was_ black. Black as darkest night. And there was something in there…

She spun away from the shadow, from the sense that it was longing for her – drawing her in. The same despairing feeling she'd felt looking into the void; now re-igniting the fear within her.

She took a breath and gave herself a second. Something was in this hotel, some kind of spirit, she felt certain of that now. It had a hold over this entire building, able to manifest all kinds of freaky creepies. Maybe even able to read the fears of the living and to generate the hotel as part of that manifestation. Certain kinds of ghouls could be exorcised, banished, or called forth with the right tools and incantations. She had neither but if she showed it she was no longer scared by its spooky antics, perhaps she could simply… ask it to reveal itself.

"Restless Spirit of this house, I call you into the light! Show yourself!"

Instant regret followed as day became night and the dance hall guests were swept into a swirling storm shadow that flashed and condensed into a black hole void in the centre of the room. Willow pulled away as something dark stepped out of that void and into the hall. The ballroom fell still as the storm went out like a black light. Alone with her now in the dark room stood another woman. Willow's height, and her weight, and with a face much like her own. Another Willow in a black tattered robe with raven hair, eyes dark as the void from whence she came, and skin green like death and veined with currents of dark energy. An Evil Willow.

"You're pathetic," intoned the Dark Willow as she walked around to greet her other self. "Weak. Useless. Oh… and a God-awful witch."

Surprised by this latest apparition, Willow kept her cool despite looking at something that was a very convincing version of herself. "Really?"

"You play a child's game," the black witch said to her. "Using grown-up weapons and wielding them like toys."

Willow couldn't help but take that personally.

The Dark Willow circled her like a predator, or a teacher scolding a child. "Take your Will Be Done spell last year. That spell is for building armies – forcing your enemies to kneel at your feet. A spell for conquering all in your path. A spell to take the world! You? You use it to end the pain of a break-up. … Pathetic. And look how it turned out. A disaster, just like everything else you do. You set out to end your own hurt and managed to hurt those closest to you. You're not even second-rate. You're a pretender; an infant who dreamed of being a witch."

Willow fought to hide her salted wounds. "What _are_ you?"

"Call me the ghost of Christmas future." The evil one chuckled.

"You're supposed to be me?" _Yeah, right_

"Not quite. You're supposed to be me. And the thing about being a witch, little Willow, is that sooner or later you _will_ turn to the dark side. Y'see, that really _is_ where all the power is, and it's only a matter of time before you realise that. I am the end of the path you've chosen. And then, when you finally learn how to use your power effectively… and, more to the point, _accurately_… that's when you'll _really_ learn how to destroy. To turn everything and everyone around you to rot."

Silence. The Dark Willow's warning hung in the air.

"Nice. You're convincing, I'll give you that." Will stood her ground and tried to be strong. "But you're not a witch, you're a phantasm. _I'm_ a witch. _I_ have the power here and believe me when I say you're starting to piss me off and I don't like to swear generally so you better believe I'm serious. End this now and let us go."

Dark Willow paused and gave it brief consideration. "Um…no."

"Then we're done here. Be gone, Spirit." She waved her hand.

Dark Willow laughed in her face. "You actually think you summoned me here just now, don't you?" She aimed a withered finger behind Willow. "If you don't wanna listen to me, maybe the ghosts of past and present can tell you who you really are…"

"Y'know, I was doing pretty good."

Willow turned to face the bar when she heard Oz's voice. He was standing there with a scotch.

"Then I meet you and a month later I'm a werewolf." He downed the drink. "Now I've got nothing. No one. You drove me out of my own life."

The sight of Oz standing there was so damn real she felt a staggering need to answer him, but she didn't because it _wasn't_ real.

"What about me?"

_Tara…? _Willow spun to see her beloved sitting on the bar.

"I was alone," sighed Tara. "Lonely, sure. But at least my life was never in danger. That's what you gave me."

It was so real… And she missed Tara so much… "Enough of this." Willow turned her attention back to the other Willow. Distractions. Just like Kim had said. "What've you done with Kimberly?"

"She's mine now."

"Where is she?"

The evil version of her pointed to the dark shadow that ran up the far wall. Within, Will saw something pale and fleshy… and eyes. Another set of eyes directed at her. But these were watery – filled with fear. It was a face. The mouth was covered by a restrictive arm of darkness but Willow recognised the girl that was trapped in a cloak of shadow. It was Kimberly.

She took a step towards the shadow and stopped when the dark arms constricted tightly around Clegg's body. Kim let out a muffled cry of pain.

"I'll kill her," warned the Dark Willow.

The true Willow was at the end of her patience. She'd had enough of this hotel and whatever spirit was haunting it, of its scare tactics and the emotional stakes it was trying to slay her with. It was getting way too personal, and she _really_ didn't like the evil version of herself it created. Her tolerance was stretched to its limit. She knew it was capable of murder by manipulation – King and Merran had found out the hard way – and now it threatened to kill Kimberly Clegg.

_Snap_

There went her tolerance.

Out of nowhere, Will hurled a rapid deslavo ball that caught her dark self on the shoulder, knocking her spinning backwards. The evil witch spun around and sent a surge of orange lightening into Willow. It zapped her to the floor where she shook with electric spasms. Fighting the shakes, Willow used her kinetic force and threw her hand out towards the water tank, propelling the air. The tank over the bar cracked and burst open, spilling its contents – dead jellies and all – over her evil twin.

Willow pushed herself up and made a sprint for the shadow in the wall. Clegg was still strapped there into the darkness, As she closed in, the shadow withdrew deeper into the wall – into the void.

Willow whispered into her hand, purposely miscasting the guiding light spell, and threw a handful of green sparkle bulbs into the shadow. They popped and exploded like faulty Christmas tree lights as she ran into the wall, through it, and into the void.

The flash bulbs were enough to disintegrate the straps of shadow that held Clegg in the air – just as Will hoped, only supernatural light could effect supernatural darkness.

Kim fell into Willow's arms. They were in a hole of utter blackness and the wall behind them was closing up. Will pushed Kimberly through the hole, which was almost gone, and dove through.

Willow landed on the ballroom floor with a painful grunt and rolled around. The Dark Willow was gone. She turned over to check on Kim–

_Slap! _

Clegg's hand struck her across the cheek to her surprise. The Lieutenant looked terrified as she scrambled up to get away.

Willow managed to raise her stunned self onto her knees and call after the other girl. She tried to tell her, "It's just me. Willow," and, "You're safe now. I got you."

But Clegg whipped around, wide-eyed and shivering uncontrollably with fear. "This is all you!" It wasn't fear… it was rage. "_You_ did this to me! Get away from me! You're… a _monster!_"

* * *

(*Song lyrics to 'Hotel California' by Don Felder, Glenn Frey, Don Henley.)


	15. Inner Demons

_-__** Buffy Meets Star Trek 2**__-_

**_Phantom Days_ **

- Inner Demons -

**15**

**Xander**

The shuttlepod Shikar emerged leisurely from the Hromi Cluster and sailed alone through Federation space. She had just one passenger.

*Crunch*

Alexander Harris, more Rabbitoid than Humanoid, chewed on a hard stick of celery, a distant yellow glow shining in through the windshield.

The female voice of the computer spoke up; 'Lump hammer based on a mythical weapon wielded by the Norse god of thun–'

"What is Mjolnir." He took a drink of water from a plastic sipper bottle clasped in both paws – licking the metal ball bearing on the stem to free the liquid.

'Correct,' replied the placid voice of the shuttle.

"Too easy. Make them harder."

'Working. … Extra-dimensional entities who must operate within the Earth dimension via agents of various alien races, and creators of the Fortisquians.'

"Who are the Beyonders. They're still too easy."

'Working. … Members of the Inhuman Royal Family in the original run of the comic books.'

That was more like it. "Okay… Who are… Black Bolt…Crystal…Maximus the Mad… um… Medusa… err… Lockjaw! Wait – no – he wasn't royal, just an escort … um…" How many were there again?

'Your time has expired. Do you wish to be informed of the remaining names?'

"No, that'll do." He sighed. He was tired. Bored. Alone. Playing Marvel Jeopardy seemed like a way to distract him from the obvious, but it wasn't working. "Hey, computer lady, I'm thinking about changing _my_ name. To Roger. Or Brundlebunny. What do you think? If there was a superhero mutant rabbit in the Marvelverse, what would he be called?"

The computer spat out a weird series of error noises. 'Please restate the question.'

She was so calmly indifferent, so serene. Totally at peace with being an inanimate bit of tech. He wondered if she was capable of small talk, or even flirting. "Tell me something about yourself."

'I am an audio interface program.'

"'Kay, suppose I asked for that. There must be more to you, though." He looked around the cabin. "You're comfortable, sleek, zippy. Tell me about the delightful _Shikar_." The name sounded fairly exotic.

'The Shikar is a light short-range Type 10 shuttlepod constructed at the Starfleet ASDB Integration Facility, Utopia Planetia Fleet Yards, Mars, and commissioned to the starship USS Phantom on stardate 53943.1. It is 9.64 metres in length with a beam of 5.82 metres, a height of 3.35 metres, and an unloaded mass of 19.73 metric tonnes. Powered by two 750 millocochrane impulse driver engines and ten DeFI 3234 microfusion RCS thrusters. Armaments consist of two Type 5 phaser emitters. Passenger configuration – four, with two flight crew. The computer core consists of a Danube-class–'

"Alright. Enough." _Bor-ring._ "Ya have any music?"

'Onboard library contains a selection of music from Federation history encompassing numerous ethnic groups from 25 civilisations within the United Federation of Planets. Please specify an artist or genre.'

What was he in the mood for? "Got any Sarah McLachlan?"

'Searching database… Affirmative. Twelve tracks are available by the musician Sarah Ann McLachlan.'

"Play 'em all."

A slow sad piano chimed and McLachlan's anguished mezzo-soprano voice sang out from a dark tormented place.

'…_In the arms of the angel_

_Far away from here _

_From this dark cold hotel room _

_And the endlessness that you fear _

_You are pulled from the wreckage _

_Of your silent reverie _

_You're in the arms of the angel _

_May you find some comfort here…'_

Way too depressing. And there just _had_ to be a hotel. "Actually… skip this track."

The computer gave a chirp. A guitar twanged, a drum beat softly.

'…_Hold on_

_Hold on to yourself_

_For this is gonna hurt like hell_…'

"Skip it."

Chirp.

'…_Heaven bent to take my hand_

_And lead me through the fire_...'

He settled back in his chair and munched his celery.

'…_the cost was so much more than I could bear_…'

She was right there.

'…_Though I've tried, I've fallen..._

_I have sunk so low_

_I have messed up_

_Better I should know_…'

Fallen, fallen, fallen. Yes, indeedy. And things were _seriously_ messed up.

'…_The lonely light of morning_

_The wound that would not heal_

_It's the bitter taste of losing everything_

_That I have held so dear_…'

_Damn_, thought Xander. The chick sure knew how to kick a man in the nuts right when they were hanging out in the open all bruised and swollen.

'…_Nowhere left to turn_

_I'm lost to those I thought were friends_

_To everyone I know_

_Oh they turned their heads embarrassed_

_Pretend that they don't see_

_But it's one missed step_

_You'll slip before you know it_

_And there doesn't seem a way to be redeemed_…'

Xander furrowed his furry brow. _Losing everything… Those I thought were friends… Redeemed…_

"Stop. Stop the music. Shut it off, shut it off!" Willow! He would rescue Willow! The one person who would accept him and never abandon him! "Computer. What was the name of that planet – the one we were just on?"

'Arc. Formerly designated HC-1316 Alpha.'

"No, not that one! The other one – before that!"

'Lambda Hromi Three.'

"That's it! Take me there! Now!" He would rescue Willow and she would find a way to help him!

'Unable to comply.'

"What? Why the hell not? Turn around!"

'Course is locked. Level one clearance required to adjust heading.'

_Damn_. "And what's _my_ clearance level?"

'Ten.'

_Damn_. "So, I've got no choice. I'm going to Earth whether I like it or not."

'Negative.'

"Huh? What do you mean? Negative what?"

'Earth is not the current destination.'

_What?_ "Where the hell am I going then?"

'The current destination of this vessel is Alpha Leonis.'

_Alpha-? What in the-? Why-? Where-? __**What?**_

_Christ in a handbasket_

He almost dare not ask. "…And what's Alpha Leonis?" His diabolical brain conjured up the worst possible answers: Euthanasia clinic. Prison colony. Pelt-skinning facility. Meat pie factory.

'Alpha Leonis is the primary star of the Regulus System.'

Nope, _that_ was the worst possible answer. "We're flying into a sun?"

'Affirmative,' came the computer's level response. She wasn't a bit concerned.

But Xander was. Xander was very, very concerned. _A __**sun**__!? _How could it possibly be true? Who would–?

That security guy. "Sorry about this," he'd said. "Just following orders."

Rayner.

It was true. He didn't know why, or how they could get away with it, but he knew it was true and it scared the sweet bejesus out of him. His ears had drooped, his whiskers twitched and his whole body shivered. It was real, but it couldn't be real. Flying into a sun…

"What happens when we get there?"

'The shuttlepod Shikar will be destroyed. Six minutes and twenty-two seconds prior to arrival, there will be a significant increase in heat and radiation levels. Three minutes and forty-eight seconds prior to arrival, primary shields will fail. Two minutes and twelve seconds prior to arrival, any crewmembers remaining onboard will expire.'

Damn wasn't enough. Even Good God failed to express his feeling. Four minutes on quick roast. Is that all he had left to look forward to? Was he, Xander Harris, going to cook to death?

His teeth were grinding loudly. "How far?" he asked in a shaky murmur. "I mean, how long before we…" …_die…_ "…get there?"

'Fourteen minutes until arrival.'

He sagged into his seat with the yellow radiance of his doom glowing over his white fur. For a full minute out of all the fourteen that remained, Xander sat frozen and stared through the bulkhead.

He'd felt a similarly overwhelming sense of doom before. Right before Captain Dave Freeman had saved him with a space-walk, and again right before he himself saved the gang with a second space-walk. This time there was no place to run.

"Where are the space suits onboard this thing?" His voice sounded small and distant.

'There are currently no EVA suits onboard the Shikar.'

"Of course not." Not that he would last very long out in space in an EVA suit. Longer than 14 minutes, though. Or 12, by now.

"Play me another song…"

Chirp.

'…_Doesn't mean much_

_Doesn't mean anything at all_

_The life I've left behind_

_Is a cold room_

_I've crossed the last line_

_From where I can't return_

_Where every step I took in faith_

_Betrayed me_

_And led me from my home_

_Sweet Surrender_

_Is all that I have to give…'_

_Sweet surrender…_

Or would it be a sweet release?

_Don't think like that!_

What other way was there to think?

_Think of a plan!_

Good luck in 11 minutes. There are still better choices.

_What could be better than burning up on the edge of a sun? What choices do I–?_

"Turn the music off." He sat up and leaned over the dash panel. "Show me how to disconnect the life support system – on this screen here."

'Disconnecting power to the life support system is not recommended.'

"That so? Humour me."

'Disconnecting power to the life support system will result in death.'

"And flying into a sun won't? Show me or I'll open this panel down here and chew up every cable in there!"

The screen in front of him lit up with a schematic of the isolinear board in the panel at his feet. It indicated with red flashing lights which chips could be removed to shut down the air and heating systems. With no thumbs, it took both paws to pry out each of the isolinear chips, and the computer gave him a warning.

"Now how long before I run out of air?"

'Carbon dioxide levels will become fatal within twelve to twenty-four hours.'

_Sh*tfire_. "How long to reach the star?"

'Ten minutes.'

_Sh*t. Sh*t. Sh*t._

"What if I shut off the power? Engines and everything?"

'The shuttlepod will continue to drift towards the target destination.'

"But how long will it take?"

'Approximately one hour.'

_Sh****t…_ "But it'll get cold in here, right?"

'Cabin temperature will decrease and become fatal in one hour and seventeen minutes.'

_Sh*t and dammit!_

'Warning. Vessel on intercept course. Contact in two minutes.'

Xander sat up and blinked his large oculars. _Another ship out there?_ "Good. Good! Call them! Send an SOS or something."

'Contacting the incoming vessel is not recommended. Incoming vessel is of Nausicaan construction.'

Wasn't that the KISS gang they'd tussled with in the Frisco bar? Who cared? Any help was good. "You'll have to give me a better excuse than that, lady."

'Nausicaans are a race of pirates and criminals known for taking prisons.'

_Prisoner…or barbecued bunny?_ "I can settle for prisoner right now."

'No prisoner has ever survived Nausicaan capture. All prisoners are subjected to torture, often lasting hours or days before death. Contact in one minute thirty seconds. Initiation of automatic defence system is advised.'

Escape days of torture only to burn up in a sun? Better it be over with quickly.

He sat back, tense and quivering, and wondered how things could be any worse. What he wouldn't give for a hand phaser or a…

He squinted at the rear bulkhead.

It wasn't just a bulkhead.

"How do I open the hatch?"

'The door mechanism cannot function during flight.'

"What if I disconnect the computer? How do I open it manually?" _Am I really asking that question?_

'That would be inadvisable. Death will occur within seconds.'

"Death will occur anyway!" _Stupid machine._ "You sound nice, but you're not the brightest, are ya?" He scrunched down under his seat and reached into the panel, pulling out all the remaining computer chips. "She's flying me to a fiery funeral and she warns me not to_ open the door_ 'cos it'll kill me–"

_Kill me…_

_Death_

It struck him. What it meant to be dead. Gone. To be no more.

The engines fell silent. The screens flickered and died. He stood up and saw that one small wall panel was still alight. There was text on the screen.

_Emergency computer interface terminal active_

'Computer systems have been terminated,' she reported indifferently

_Terminated. Dead._

…_I'm going to die…_

'Contact in twenty seconds.'

At least he wouldn't care once it was over.

He went to the rear hatch where the exit ramp was and found the small square panel on the adjacent wall.

Manual release.

He pulled the plasticy cover away to reveal the release lever.

He wrapped his claw around it and paused. Did he really want to do this?

'Proximity alert. Transporter range in ten seconds.'

_Death will occur in seconds…_

'Nine…eight…seven…'

Long, painful seconds of burning cold...

'Six…five…four…'

He gripped tight the lever. Could he do it?

'Three…two…one…'

* * *

**Laine**

Laine, barely aware he was putting one foot in front of the other, was taking the long walk to the brig. There was the vague awareness of passing crewmen in the corridors; their identities a blur as he tried not to focus on their faces. He couldn't bear to see them seeing him on his walk of shame with their betrayed judgmental expressions. He was still numb. Still waiting for the recent spiralling events of his life to sink in and become real. Tom led him from behind with a hand phaser at his back.

Incompetent and immature. Just a few hours ago the captain would have used those words to describe him. But now, with other Chameloids running around on the ship and Varik…

Now he was in a deeper hole than he knew how to get out of and the captain would see him as a shapeshifting spy. Or worse. And the crew… people he thought were becoming his friends… to have them learn about him like this…

_Well, it's all over, isn't it_, he admitted to himself. It all depended on Varik now. When the medical team had arrived it seemed like he was still alive. "Varik. Will he make it?"

"Shut up, Laine," came Tom's calm response. It was a forced calm. "Pretending to give a damn won't get you out of this now we know what you did to King."

Laine stopped dead. "_What?_"

"That's right. We know about your little stunt on the away mission. The beast King saw was you. You probably staged the whole thing. Bet you were disappointed when the rest of your team didn't lose it."

Laine tried to match Tom's calm. "That's not what happened, Tom. King saw something but it wasn't me."

"Don't bother. Harris confirmed it."

_Xander…? _Laine looked Tom hard in the eye. "He told you _I_ was the beast?"

"He told Captain Rayner. Made an official statement."

"It's a _lie_. You have to let me talk to him."

Tom lifted his weapon. "Not likely. Now keep moving."

Laine stared into the man's eyes but he really wasn't interested in helping. Tom didn't care anymore. He turned forward and walked on.

"If I were you," Tom said from behind, "I'd stop talking and pray Varik makes it."

* * *

They were almost at the turbolift when Laine heard footsteps coming from there. Unlike everyone else who'd seen Laine being led like a criminal, the crewman on the end of these feet didn't slow down to rubberneck – the footsteps came faster.

Laine looked up and saw a science officer with ensign pips. _No! _

The second he saw the crewman he knew it wasn't human. By the time he'd looked, seen, and realised, the Chameloid was beside them. It transformed into its hairy animalistic guise in an instant and before Tom could react, the alien snatched him off the deck by his head and snapped his neck. There was a pitiful squeak that came from Tom before Laine heard the crack. Then his body was on the carpet and the Chameloid was picking up his phaser.

Laine could only stare in astonishment at this second member of his species. After so many centuries he had seen two in the same day. This one was younger than Heban. Possibly the son he'd mentioned.

Laine was stuck in that moment, his mind trying to deny what was occurring around it but reality slowly crept up. "You killed him…"

The Chameloid didn't flinch. "He killed my father." It was a matter-of-fact statement that justified the murder. "Come. You don't belong here with these humans."

Had Tom died just so this monster could break him out of custody? "I'm not going anywhere with you. You're a killer." He could feel adrenaline kicking in now. Anger boiled up inside. It was the damn Chameloids that were dragging him down into that deep hole and digging it deeper as they went.

"I'm your kin, Lalan. Your place is with your people."

"I'm not one of you!" He snapped and took his kin by the scruff of his neck and slammed him into the wall. "I'm Laine! _Laine!_ I'm nothing like you!" He slapped away the phaser and smashed the Chameloid's face with his forehead. Heban's son spat up blood and teeth and Laine pounded a series of uppercuts under the shifter's ribs, tearing up his insides. The Chameloid barely tried to defend as Laine gave a blistering right cross that exploded against its cheek. Heban's son groaned and fell to the floor.

More footsteps. Someone was coming.

"Go," the Chameloid wheezed. "Flee, brother." With a final grunt he died there on the floor in front of Laine.

Laine was stunned. Footsteps running. Someone was still coming. He couldn't help himself. At the last moment, Laine changed himself and became Schlatnak. It was the last form he'd taken and the first thing that came to mind. To his horror, it was Schlatnak that came around the corner with a rifle. The tall thin alien was taken aback when he saw himself standing there. Laine had no time for reasoning. Schlatty was going to snap out of it and shoot him if he didn't do something.

Schlatnak hit his comm badge and realised his mistake as the other him came tearing towards him. "Emergency!" He raised his phaser rifle and fired a shot.

Laine, using Schlatnak's speed and narrow frame, managed to side-step the beam and roll around for a left jab. By the time it connected he had become Laine again and the power of the punch had skyrocketed.

Schlatnak reeled against the wall and dropped the weapon but he didn't go down. With an animal growl he replied to Laine's jab with a palm slice to the big man's neck – right below the ear and it sent a shocking pulse of agony through his jaw and down his collar.

The Monchezken was taller than Laine; quite tough and nimble for a skinny guy but Laine was locked into survival mode and when Schlatty clamped his long fingers around Laine's neck like a vice, he knew it was life or death. He reached out with his own huge hands and the two men strangled each other for over a minute before one of them suddenly blacked out.

Schlatnak's arms fell away and Laine, head dizzy, vision blurry, and still locked in a crazed fight for survival, kept on squeezing as he lowered the alien's heavy body to the deck.

Then came the first gasp of air – of life – and Laine pulled away suddenly. He took a minute to regain his balance and massage his throat but when he looked back he saw that Schlatty wasn't unconscious. The guy wasn't breathing. He was dead.

"Ahh, no. _No!_" He dropped to the floor at Schlatnak's side. Locking one hand over the other Laine tried to restart his heart. He'd given a dozen pushes before he realised that Monchezkens kept their hearts much lower. He tried to find the spot but tears were filling his eyes, blinding him and rolling down his face.

Two officers came roaring down the hall. "Down! Get down on the ground!"

Something pulled at his collar from behind.

"Face down! Face down! Hands behind your head!"

Laine let them plant his wet face into the carpet and he felt the end of a rifle pressing into the back of his neck.

"Security support required; deck two section one!"

Laine let out a sorry sigh that seemed to drool out of his mouth and into the purple pile of the carpet. They didn't need security support. Laine was done.

* * *

"Five people are dead and he's running around my ship imitating members of my crew to spy on me! I'm the goddamn captain!"

Laine could hear it all from his cell. Rayner was out of view near the entrance to the brig. Everyone else had plenty to say but since his capture – the second time – Laine hadn't spoken a word. He was passed it all. There was no point anymore. Merran and King: dead. Varik: dead. Tom and Schlatty: dead. He was the evil thing he hated. The criminal. The murderer. He really _was_ the beast.

"What do we do with him?" asked a young woman. It sounded like Pittock was the new head of the ever-dwindling security team.

"He's done enough damage," fumed the captain. "I want that thing off my ship!"

Laine put his head back against the wall and closed his eyes. In a way he was relieved. He didn't want to be there anymore either.

* * *

Laine materialised in a world of shimmering crystal. Arc. The birthplace of his species. He looked up in time to see the tiny flash in the dull grey sky that was the Phantom hitting warp. They weren't even sticking around to watch.

All around him the once lively plains of moving crystal were almost motionless as the planet crept towards its demise. But not everything was at a standstill – the sound of broken glass rushing along like a water rapid was louder here. He moved to the edge of the nearby cliff and saw the waterfall. Except there was no water. A river of speeding, flowing crystal fell off the end of the world and poured down into the canyon where it crashed into a crystal pool hundreds of feet below. It was the most amazing thing he'd ever–

He suddenly remembered why he was there and the tears threatened his eyes again.

Rayner had left him here alone on Arc to starve or die with his planet. It was strange to think that he'd come home to die. And that he might even be the last of his people now. It was right, though, that one of his kind should be with their home at the end. If Arc was dying then a Chameloid will be there to die with it. It was a good thing. A right thing.

"You should not remain here, my kin." It was the interactive crystal Chameloid. It seemed to be having a hard time holding its shape, looking more crystal-like than humanoid.

"It's out of my hands now," Laine sighed. "They found out what I was and…"

Silence but for the crashing of the crystal falls.

"It just goes to show," said the artificial Chameloid. "Those people were never your friends. Real friends would stand by your side no matter what you are."

Laine stood over the canyon at the falls high over the crystal pool… and considered jumping.

To die in the arms of the mother-world.

What would happen if he waited? Would he freeze to death as the planet cooled? Would Arc burn up from the inside and cook him alive? Blow apart, propelling him into space?

Better to get it over with.

At least he'd seen home. At least he could die where he'd been birthed.

He stood at the edge of the crystal falls and closed his eyes.

"Peace be with you, my kin," said the crystalline man.

Laine bent his knees and prepared to take the leap to freedom.

_I'm home…_

* * *

**Willow**

Kimberly Clegg was battered, cut and bleeding as she fled into reception. The stairs were gone, the doors gone, and when she turned back, Willow was there.

"Stay away from me, witch!"

"Kimberly…" Willow didn't know what to do, what to say. It looked like Clegg was going to tear out her eyes with her bare hands if she got close enough.

"You made all this – it's all you. That's why you never came for me. You left me to the beast!"

_My God…_ "I couldn't reach you. I got trapped," she tried to sound reassuring, reasonable.

"Right." She nodded falsely, excitedly, moving on the spot like a strung-out addict. "We're all just prisoners here."

_Of our own device_

Willow gritted her teeth. Those damn lyrics again.

"You got me here…you got me alone…you got me alone…and when I didn't want to play your game anymore…you turned to torture…to torture…to get your kicks."

Clegg was acting so manic that Willow tried to find her calmest voice. "Kimberly, that's ridiculous. I'm not doing this. I would never do this. Not to you."

She paced frantically, twitching, looking sideways at her. "If you aren't making all this then…you just left me. You left me to die. To save yourself. I _trusted you!_" she screamed out. Then she realised something. "Just like I trusted you on the Phantom and look what happened. I should have known then… You're _no good_."

Willow pulled away. "People make mistakes," she uttered. "You said yourself."

"You think I meant all that crap?" Clegg spat. "I had a job to do! …And I needed you to help me do it! You were falling apart…pathetic…pathetic…just like she said. …I had to get you back in the game. That's what it was…that's all it was. …That was _my_ mistake."

"Why are you talking like this? I thought we were friends. I thought you cared…"

"Ha! You stupid, insipid little American moron! You were a tool! Christ, you _are_ a bloody tool. You were just a weapon. A weapon to fight the creatures that _you_ brought into _my_ universe!"

Willow staggered back. How could it all have been a lie? How could it be so easy to fake a friendship with a person you despised? And Kimberly Clegg, of all people. How could she…? How could…

Kimberly's black shirt was unzipped to her breast revealing bare skin, the shoulder straps of a grey vest, and the hint of cleavage. That was all.

Willow's voice sounded oddly calm after everything. "Where's your pouch?"

"What?"

"Your protection pouch is gone." It made so much sense now; the relief flooded her system like a drug. "You're possessed."

"Ha. Haha. Hahaha." Clegg's face was frenetic, her body stooped over, her arms gesturing emphatically. "You just can't see it can you? Poor innocent little Willow Rosenberg couldn't possibly be the problem, could she? But I've seen what you'll become! I've seen your future!"

"You mean that apparition back there? Kimberly, that wasn't real. It was this place creating torment for _me_. I am _not_ going to become like her. I'll never let that happen."

"You don't have a choice anymore. That's the route you've taken. It's already starting. You almost destroyed the only colony of those nonionic lifeforms known to man. Next time you'll succeed, it's inevitable. You _are_ an Angel of Death."

That's what she'd told Xander. Dark witches – the Angeli Della Morte. "How do you know about that?"

Kim was distant now; searching the reception for a door or corridor. Will may as well have been invisible. She tried to approach the troubled girl. "Kim? …Kimberly? …Where did you hear about the Angels of Death?" She reached out slowly for Kim's arm. Just a light touch to bring her back…

Clegg cried out hysterically and tore away from Willow. "Let me out of here, you little freak! I don't wanna be here anymore!" She was beyond fear – something had disturbed her so much she was lost far into the depths of terror. She was crying now; a scared, angry flow of tears. "It's you! This is all you! You brought this here from your hell dimension! All you're good for is bringing death and horror! People around you die! You're a _monster_, Willow, and I can't believe I ever slept with you!"

Everything stopped right there.

Willow narrowed her eyes at Kimberly and cast a questioning slant her way. Clegg was still breathing heavy – red-faced and shaking with a fearful rage.

But what was she saying?

Willow examined Clegg's face. She was being deadly serious and she wasn't lying. At least, not in her own mind. And yet…

Willow straightened up and regained her composure. Kim looked baffled to see she was no longer upset. "You know when you have a dream so vivid that, when you wake up, for a few seconds you're not really sure whether it was a dream or a memory?" asked Willow evenly.

"What are you on about, you insane little–"

"We never had sex."

Kim's head bobbed back, startled.

"It was just a dream I had. Nothing more than my subconscious acting out a fantasy." She looked around them. "That's what this is, isn't it? Fantasy. Where's _my_ Clegg?"

"You're even crazier than I th–"

"Save it," she snapped. "I'm done dealing with wisps. You've locked on to a fantasy I had about a person I'm attracted to but you got your facts all wrong."

Whatever was looking into her mind, it was only scanning superficially. Unable to distinguish nightmares from dreams from reality. It was certainly no Freddy Krueger. And it was no typical Fear Demon or ghost.

She gave the confused Clegg a guileful smile and thought to herself; _Things really do come back to you in the moment…_

Willow drew out her velveteen magick pouch and turned it over into her palm, spilling sweet-smelling herbs and a single rock. She picked out the small labradorite crystal and clutched it to her forehead, whispering a hurried chant, instilling it with new magical energies, twisting its purpose from the reflection of Demon energy to the deflecting of other forms of witchcraft.

With renewed confidence, she cast her spell-breaker:

"Dark shadowed veil that blinds my eyes; draw back and end this shroud of lies!"

She raised her hand high and the crystal pulsed with a flash of blinding light.

* * *

The hotel disappeared around her and Willow found herself in the hot red glow of a real sun. She was outside on the dust of a deep rouge alien world. The real Lambda Hromi III. She saw the Klingon fighter shuttle they were chasing – parked just metres ahead. She saw Xander – _Xander!_ – He looked fine; his arms were reaching for something then surprise struck his face. He began to stare at his own hands like he'd never seen them before.

Laine was behind him. He staggered forward from a failed jump and what crossed his face could not be described by a word as simple as shock. There was surprise, horror, panic, confusion, embarrassment, relief. When he looked and saw Clegg, and the rest of them, his eyes filled with tears.

And Kimberly – _thank the Goddess!_ – equally perplexed.

Then she saw the other person that was present.

An ageing man in his late fifties with grey-brown hair parted at one side and loosely pushed back. He wore a purple velvet suit, blue swirly tie, and black shirt, with rings on many of his fingers. He looked positively harmless, with a friendly charming sort of face. He seemed as surprised as any of them. Then Willow saw what was in his hands. An egg-like stone of black veined onyx aglow with cracks of purple energy.

The old man held out the stone like a weapon, his gentle face growing dark. The stone brightened and threw out a wave of energy that blew right through them.

* * *

Willow was thrown back into the illusion. She was outside in darkness, hammered by torrential rain, and out of the night came the dancers from the ballroom. They were no longer human but the decaying ghosts of men and women long dead and they came out of the darkness to take her. Only now she knew it wasn't real. And she still had the crystal. She put it to her head and threw into it every ounce of Wiccan energy in her body, thrusting it up, "Ostendo!"

It exploded like a star.

* * *

Back on the red planet. Klingon ship. Xander. Laine. Kim. The man with the magical mystery rock. The very second reality struck her; Willow threw out a hand, sending a rush of telekinetic energy shooting across the dust. It struck the old man in the chest, took him of his feet, and knocked him back into the dry soil. His glowing stone fell to the dirt. The cracks of purple light that ran like veins under the surface faded away and the gemstone died to a marbled black.

Willow collapsed into the red soil, so drained she could not reach the stone as it rolled to a stop beside her. She did manage to force out one word with the last of her strength. "Xander!"

"On it!" He shook off his alarm and ran for the stone.

Clegg aimed a finger at the floored old man. "Laine!"

"I've got him." He stepped across to where their tormentor was laid out, struggling to push himself up on his elbows. Laine took him by the scruff of his collar with both fists. The biggest part of the big man wanted to pound the feeble old boy to death. But he'd already seen what might have happened to Schlatnak If he let go of his control. Instead he pulled the man's dazed face to his own. "You're mine now."

Clegg appeared over them, reached for her phaser and aimed the business end at their enemy's face. "You know what this is?" He nodded at her. "Then you know the first bad move you make I'll drop you like a KlingonTarg."

Xander crawled across to Willow with the black stone cradled in his arm. His hand found hers and squeezed tight. "Boy, am I glad to see you."

She reached out with a weak hand and touched his face. "Are you real?"

"'Fraid so, kiddo," he said with a delirious grin. "I don't know how you saw through that madcap nightmare or how you got us out of there, but thank the stars you did."

"Phantom to away-team." It was the captain.

"Clegg here." She held prayerful hands to her face. _Sweet merciful relief!_

"Report."

"Um…"

Willow smiled. "We're back," she wheezed.

"We have a prisoner," Laine pronounced gladly, and dragged the man to his feet.

"And the Klingon fighter," added Clegg.

"Prepare yourselves for transport. I'd like to get you out of there before you disappear again."

Clegg searched the site for two other members of their team, saw nothing of them, and looked to Laine. The look in his eyes reflected her own ill feeling.

"Merran and King," he uttered.

"We… have them," came Rayner's leaden response.

The officers dropped their heads. Not everything that happened, it seemed, had been fantasy.

Laine shoved his prisoner over to Willow and Xander with little empathy for the old man. "Four to beam up."

Satisfied, Willow's hand dropped away from Xander's face. Her head settled into the dust and she passed out.

* * *

(*Song lyrics to 'Angel', 'Hold On', 'Fallen' and 'Sweet Surrender' by Sarah McLachlan.

Song lyrics to 'Hotel California' by Don Felder, Glenn Frey, Don Henley.)

**Side Note:** I imagine Robin Williams when writing the villain of this episode. 


	16. The Illusionist

_-__** Buffy Meets Star Trek 2**__-_

**_Phantom Days_ **

- The Illusionist -

**16**

The away team had been fussed over, checked over, fed and watered, and Laine had written their initial report for the captain, all in the sickbay of the Phantom.

An emotional narcosis hung over the surviving members of the away-team. Four troubled souls. Barely a word spoken between them.

Anya was permitted visitation and gone straight to Xander for a solid hug. He didn't know what to say to her. He tried to recall what their last real conversation had been with the nightmare scenario still strong in his mind. Before either of them found words, Captain Rayner had arrived and asked them to refrain from discussing the mission until he could debrief them.

Their captive was secure in the Dungeon brig, and the hotel they had encountered was not on the surface. The hellish fantasy was over.

* * *

Within the hour they were gathered in the Paranormal Research Department on the ship's basement deck, in the Dungeon's office at the far end of main PRD. On the left side wall at the modest conference table, which was lit with an inner blue glow, sat the away team. Laine and Clegg sat on one side of the table with Will and Xander on the other. Laine was leaning one elbow coolly on the tabletop, Clegg with her hands locked on its surface looking tense. Willow hugged herself. On the end of the table, sitting between Laine and Willow, a cold black oval stone. The end chair was empty as Rayner propped himself on the office desk on the right side of the room.

"This is what _we_ know," the captain apprised them. "Your team vanished on arrival, as did the Klingon fighter shuttle and the Demonoid life-sign reading. We now believe that reading was false. Minutes later, Commander Merran and Lieutenant King appeared on the surface, dead."

That explained why they just disappeared from the hotel hoax, thought Xander, when King's phaser was only set to kill.

Laine dropped his eyes at the mention of them. He was still braced for Rayner's scolding, expecting that scene from his nightmare to come true. Any time now Rayner would take him off the job and run his investigation.

The captain continued, "We beamed their bodies up to discover they were killed by one of our own phasers. Without any means to ascertain the nature of the threat down there, I chose not to risk sending another team. A little over two hours later, your team reappeared briefly, and within seconds you were back."

"Only two hours?" In his surprise, Laine cast his eyes back to Rayner. "It was days for me."

"Ditto," said Xander. "The longest of my life." _Almost the last, too. _That part he did not divulge.

"I guess I had it easy," Willow said. "Maybe eight or ten hours."

Kimberly nodded. "For me, also."

Willow wondered what Kim had experienced. The Clegg that had verbally attacked her wasn't real, so had she been real at all from the beginning? They hadn't spoken of it since.

Captain Rayner took note of the discrepancy and said, "I've read Laine's report but I'd like to hear the short version of _your_ experiences." He gave an upward nod to Xander. "Harris?"

How could he begin to convey in words the horror of his experience? He didn't even know how to convey it in his mind. "I'd have a hard time editing it down to the _long_ version." He tried to focus on the central theme of his ordeal. "It was like living in a nightmare you can't get away from. It was real. It was insane, but I thought it was real." He struggled on; "He got me to thinking I'd been mutated beaming back to the ship. …Into a kind of monster. An…an animal. It was fairly unpleasant. Hurt him. Please."

Rayner turned that over in his mind a moment and moved on. "Clegg?"

"There was the haunted hotel," she explained matter-of-factly. "I guess we all saw that. I was with Willow. I thought I was. There were blackouts, noises, and rooms… concrete, soil, decay. And a void. The whole thing… was surreal and very unnerving." She faltered, a little of that objective tone leaving her voice. "Then…I was taken and held captive in some kind of living shadow. Until Willow freed us." She conveyed her appreciation to the witch through the warmth of a smile.

"Explain to me how you achieved that," Rayner said to Willow.

"When I realised it was fake–"

"How did you figure it out exactly?" Laine asked from across the table. "Like Xander said, it felt so real."

"It was…the fake Kimberly. She… I could just tell she wasn't our Kim." Her eyes found Clegg's briefly. "So I used the crystal in my… in my protection pouch and used its energy to dispel the false reality. It was a simple enough de-glamouring."

The captain didn't react to the mention of a pouch, but his forehead creased. "You did what?"

"A psionic displacement wave, sir," Clegg came in, making it easy on Willow. "That's my theory." She fired a knowing wink at Will. The Captain just needed to hear something sciency.

He assumed he wasn't going to get any more sense out of them than that, so Rayner moved on. "Tell me about the prisoner."

"He's not giving us a name," Laine told him, "so we've filed him under the title _The Illusionist_."

"The Illusionist?"

"Yeah, I know," granted Clegg. "It came down to that, Mr Illusion, The Evil Nightmare Warlock, or Unknown Supernatural Entity Number One."

"Evil Nightmare Warlock," said Xander. "That was mine. I still say go with that."

"The Illusionist will be fine," settled the Captain. "Do we know _how_ he was able to create such vivid realities?"

"With this." Kimberly aimed a finger at the black stone sitting unassumingly on the surface of their table. "His illusions were so real, Captain. It made our holodecks look like…like those old 3D glasses." She turned to Will and Xander, laughing. "With the red and blue lenses."

Xander laughed back. "Oh, yeah!" _How lame were those!_

Kim knew a lot about that time in history. Rayner didn't. He wasn't getting it. She straightened her face.

The captain regarded the smooth egg-shaped rock. "What do we know about this…object?"

"It's some kind of mystical gem," explained Willow. "Maybe one of the lost Wish Stones of Akkad. Or it could just be a polished lump of onyx that's been infused with mystical energy by a very powerful warlock."

Clegg added, "The energy levels this thing's giving off are through the roof, sir. Nothing our regular sensors can read, but on the Demon scale..." She pulled an expressive _whoa_ face.

Rayner leaned closer to the banal piece of mineral rock. Something dangerous, powerful, and beyond their understanding. "I want it locked away tight until we can get it back to CSR."

That was the Centre for Supernatural Research where the Paranormal Research Department was based. Willow understood that the CSR was Federation, and the PRD was like the Starfleet tactical wing.

"All right." Captain Rayner stood up from the desk and went to the doorway. "I'd like to have a word with our guest now." Concerned as he was that the away-team were emotionally raw and possibly not the best people to face the prisoner, the facts remained. Laine was security chief and he needed him present as part of procedure and, well, for security. Rosenberg was the only one thus far capable of overpowering him in non-physical ways, and Clegg was now the senior PRD officer.

"If _he_ gave this stone its magical properties," Willow warned them, "then he's a powerful warlock in his own right, without the need for weapons infused with mystical energy. So…I guess…handle with care."

"But he didn't fight back when we caught him," Laine pointed out.

"Yeah…that's true."

"I don't think _I'd_ wanna fight back with the Lainosaurus hovering over me," Kimberly joked.

"We'll bare it in mind," Rayner noted. "Come with me."

* * *

They went out into main PRD where Mei-Li observed their prisoner on a monitor and the Pink Twins scanned and examined him from the central terminals with Anya.

"What's this thing giving you?" Rayner asked, approaching the twins.

"So far nothing, Captain," they answered. "He seems to be Human."

Human. Somehow Rayner didn't like that news. What did it mean for his rights and captivity and punishment? "Let's see what he's got to say for himself."

Anya and Xander shared an uneasy look as he followed the others toward the Demon brig.

* * *

The brig was a long narrow corridor flanked on both sides by four cells specially calibrated to hold supernatural energies. Any power the Illusionist had should be contained within his stark humble prison cell. As they came upon the single unit aglow with the warning light of a powered force field, they saw the man. Greying brown hair, purple velvet suit, black shirt and rings. He was approaching sixty and looked nothing like a monster. His face, about as Demonic as the face of a child, was placid and kindly, his posture benign and welcoming. He looked like someone's kind-hearted father, or grandfather.

Looks, considered Captain Rayner, could certainly deceive. "Welcome to the Phantom," he offered peaceably as the team stopped before the opening of his cell.

"You are the captain?" His voice was as soft and velvety as his suit.

"Yes. And you're the criminal who murdered two of my crew and subjected four others to mental torture."

"I killed no one, sir," came his gracious reply. I merely watch others take their own lives. The old lady was a surprise to me. Who knew your young Lieutenant King was so unstable." He was so polite it was unnerving.

Kimberly was disgusted. "You get off on driving people to suicide?"

"Everyone needs a hobby, dear."

Willow felt a well of anger churn in her stomach. Was it because he was a sicko, or was it the way he offended Kim? She didn't like seeing her face twisted so.

Laine snarled down at the prisoner like a Klingon. "Then you're a sick old bastard." Rayner handed him a warning glance.

"Are you a warlock?" asked Will.

"If I were, I'm sure you'd be a lice-ridden marmoset by now." There was no malice present in his delivery.

That only made Willow's anger grow. "I'm not nearly as weak as you think I am."

Rayner's concern was proving well-founded. The team still bore raw wounds. He needed to keep the conversation polite. The guy was human, and thereby covered under Earth law. "If you're not a…warlock…then what are you?"

"I think, at this point, I shall exercise my right to remain silent." Leisurely, he took a seat on the bunk and crossed one leg over the other. He smiled pleasantly.

"This isn't the 20th century, or whenever you came from," Clegg bit. "Answer the question."

"No." It was a simple, calm response.

Willow really hated his nice-guy attitude. There was little worse than evil masking itself as something not to be feared. A sly conniving wolf in a sheepskin suit – a foe acting the friend.

"How many others escaped with you?" asked the captain.

He shrugged.

Willow felt the anger rise up from her stomach and burn her chest.

She looked to the forcefield controls. The halo of light went out.

The Illusionist tensed up.

Willow reached out and invisible hands gripped him by the throat and raised him off the deck. He groped ineffectively at the phantom hands that held him.

Clegg watched Willow's face as she bent if downward, focusing her energy through her eyes, through the angry brow before them, and toward the helpless old beast.

Willow narrowed her eyes. "Now… you're going to tell us what we want to know or I might just make you walk yourself out an airlock." She tightened her grip. "How's that for suicide karma?"

The old man groaned.

"Stand down." It was Captain Rayner – stern but restrained.

The Illusionist looked right down his nose at Willow. "And there she is," he croaked. "The Dark Witch. I doubt you have the strength to–"

She tightened her hold further and he choked.

"Willow." It was Kimberly.

The old man dropped to his feet and the forcefield returned with a sizzle. Willow relaxed and took a step back, surprised. She looked to Kim, her eyes sorrier than she could ever say.

The Illusionist straightened his suit.

Rather than give her a punishing leer, Kim put a comforting hand on Will's shoulder.

"She's trouble this one," Rayner told their prisoner. "Believe me, I know from first-hand experience. You don't want her getting any angrier. I can't control her."

Willow regarded him. He was using the incident to his advantage.

"I have no knowledge of any others escaping," the old man sighed.

"Then, tell me, exactly what are you?"

"So that you can fill in your files? To satisfy your morbid curiosity?" He smiled again and smoothed back his hair. "You want to know what I am? I'm a _victim_. I was a man, a good man. A normal man. Until a witch destroyed my life. She took everything from me – my sight, my hearing, my voice – and left me in darkness and silence for the remainder of my days."

"I wonder what you did to deserve that?" mumbled Willow.

"Nothing. She did this to me for no reason. I was left blind, deaf and dumb because a witch wanted to practice on someone real. An experiment, she said. She left me with the Wish Stone and my imagination for company – condemning me to experience the sights and sounds of life only through my own fantasy. Doomed to walk in a dream. Oh, I could be who I was, but only in a false reality – my own inner lie. Being able to see, hear, and talk is an illusion for me. I can no longer experience outside truth. That is what was done to me."

Willow wasn't letting his sob story tug her heartstrings anytime soon. "You do more than create your own fantasies."

"The Wish Stone accessed my own desires to create a world of my imagining, but I learned how to use it to see into the minds of others – to see their dreams and their fears. I found I could make people suffer, just as that _witch_ made me suffer – pointlessly and without reason. And I enjoyed it."

"So how did you end up in the Demon realm?" asked Xander.

"Witches. Again. They sent me to that hell when they discovered what I was using my Wish Stone for. They even tried to take it from me but my illusions fooled them just as they fooled you."

"It still got you time in a Demon prison," Willow pointed out. "Make that two. And now you take it out on innocent people. You can't blame others for what happened to you."

"I don't," he said. "Witches did this to me. …I blame _you_." He remained amicable despite the insinuation. In fact, he was smiling politely as he spoke.

So, reflected Captain Rayner, there they had it. A man with a weaponised lump of rock. But just a man in the end.

Clegg was mulling over reflections of her own. "Hold on…" She looked up, deeply nonplussed. "You said the witch made you blind, deaf, and dumb?"

"Yes."

"But you're standing here talking to us now. You can hear ever word we say. You seem fine."

"As I said, I am cursed only to experience the world within my own false realities." He smiled and waited patiently for the penny to drop.

Kimberly's large eyes grew ever wider.

_There it is_

"Son of a bitch," she cussed.

Rayner made a curse of his own and gave the air a right jab on the chin.

"What is it?" puzzled Laine. He got what the guy was saying but what was the problem? They had him, and they had his stone.

"He's not here," said Clegg. "Are you?"

A knowing smile from the man.

Willow was more than a little perturbed when she asked, "How the hell did you manage it?"

"When you broke through my illusion the first time, I knew I had to do something. It was only a matter of time before you did it again. So, I created the fantasy that you defeated me the second time."

"Are we still on the planet?" Kim griped.

"No. But I was never here."

"Where are you?" said Will. She wasn't hopeful for an answer.

He shared another knowing smile with her. "I'm far enough away to be out of your reach. And, thanks to some of you, I now know how to … 'mask my impulse engine emissions'. In fact, I should bid you farewell. I'm almost out of range. It was a pleasure bringing you to the brink of suicide. Fear not; our paths shall never cross again, even if they do."

The group could do little but stand before him with all their inward/outward anger and a pressing sense of failure.

"You're frustrated," he said to them finally. "I sympathise."

"You can keep your sympathy," seethed Laine. "You tortured us!"

"Don't blame me." The Illusionist feigned upset. "They were _your_ fears. I only brought them out of their secret little places and showed them to you in all their glory. Isn't that what you're meant to do? Face your fears? It's funny," he said, amused. "Some people might call that therapy."

They cringed at his twisted view of things.

"You're no therapist," Xander reckoned. "You're a sick, twisted old miser who'll get his comeuppance soon enough."

"You all do need therapy," he said in defence. "Look at you." He opened his arms to take them all in. "Xander. With so many paranoid fears running loose in your jumbled mind, the hardest task was choosing one."

Xander's mouth dropped. _How dare he–?_

"Willow. So far from home, loveless and afraid of failure. You're a witch out of her place – no spells, no books. Giles tried to warn you that a little knowledge is worse than none at all. You're more dangerous to this world than the monsters you hunt."

She winced and pulled away until she found herself held firm in Kim's strong little hands.

"And Laine." He spoke to the group as though the huge powerhouse wasn't there at all.

Laine's heart thumped. _Please… shut up…_

"The giant who can't even admit to himself the reason he's out here with your Star Fleet. So scared of rejection that he follows explorers through the galaxy hoping to find some sign of his own peop–"

Silence.

The cell was empty.

He was gone.

Laine felt a great wave of relief. The others were less thankful. The Illusionist had been fake, but his words were real, and they hurt like arrows.

Captain Rayner was mad as hell for the first few seconds, until disgruntled resignation settled in. Kimberly watched him, hands on hips, glaring at the empty cell. She signalled Laine.

Time to escape.

* * *

Out in the main Dungeon the group joined the twins and Mei-Li, checking over the scans they'd taken to see if there was anything that was actually reliable. Kimberly decided to fill their new intel into the Illusionist's file, but first she needed to check on something in Merran's… in the office.

Anya took Xander to one side. She gripped his uniform sleeves tight in both hands. "I'm not alright," she blurted. "I mean… are _you_? All right?"

"Yeah." He touched her cheek softly. "I am now." She still looked troubled. "But you're not? Alright?"

She wrapped him in a tight hug. "I didn't know that I'd ever see you again. I thought I'd lost you."

He hugged her back. "I thought I'd lost me too."

Don't take her for granted, remember.

_Right_

"The worst part of it," he said, "…I really thought I'd lost _you_."

Clegg darted past and joined the others. From the sound of it, the Wish Stone was gone, just as expected.

"Anya…" Xander drew her away from him and focused his eyes on hers. "If I… If I don't support you enough, I mean, if I don't defend you as much as I could, I'm sorry." She peered up at him with those beautiful eyes and her perfectly delicate lips. She looked so utterly cute when thrown off guard. "Starting right now, I'm always gonna be in your corner. Wearing your colours. Backing team Anya."

"Or team _us_."

He smiled and nodded. "Right. Team us." He gently brushed her hair back over her ears and traced the curve of her face. "_You're_ the number one person in my life from now on."

"You've always been number one to me, Alexander Harris."

"And that thing with the twins…"

"I know. That was hard on both of us. Though, some areas were harder than others." She peered down at his crotch for a second. "I know you didn't want to have sex with them." Her eyes thinned. "Did you?"

"What? No. No!"

"Then good. Because I'm bored of the not talking and the not kissing and the not–"

_Inappropriate!_ "Me too," he jumped in.

"–hugging," she finished. "And… okay…I miss the giving, and the receiving, and the…having," she teased.

Xander had the goose pimples all of a sudden. "Ya know, I could give you flowers, or chocolates, but they don't really say anything." He reached for her hand. "Here… I'm giving you this." He placed her hand on his chest and covered it with his own. "My heart. It's my _whole_ heart. It's yours. Completely. Unquestionably. Forever. I love you." He squeezed her hand and touched her face again. "I love you so much."

Anya's eyes grew moist as they gazed up at him in elation.

"I never wanna be without you," he declared. "And, I am _so_ grateful that you're with me here in this crazy world."

"Wow. Xander…" She stared longingly into his brown puppies, then pulled her head back with a squint. "What happened to you down there?"

He enveloped her in a loving embrace. "I'll tell you everything."

Captain Rayner reappeared from the brig, scanned the room and made for the exit. "Clegg. My office, ten minutes." He saw Laine hanging around. "Don't you have a bridge station to man, Commander?"

Laine was staggered. He'd expected to be the one called to his office. "Uh… Aye, sir." He followed his captain out of the Dungeon.

When the doors met again, Will spun to Kimberly. "Are you in trouble?"

Kim turned away from the door to face her. She looked paler than usual. Her mouth opened slowly.

"One way or another," she said in the end.

* * *

Kimberly Clegg entered the captain's readyroom and found him behind his desk.

"I take it our magical stone has magically ceased to be?" he surmised.

"Affirmative, sir. Just like the Illusionist, it was never here."

"Sit down, Lieutenant."

She did.

He looked to his desk computer. "You worked security on Mars colony out of the Academy."

"That's correct, sir."

"And then you served in security on the _USS Westminster_." His eyes crossed to her questioningly. "You requested that?"

"I was trying to be patriotic, Captain." It sounded silly now.

"Mmm. And you went on to security on the _USS Bellwether_. You trained to work at tactical there."

"Yes, sir."

"I've looked over all your evaluations. You excelled, Lieutenant. You were well on your way to becoming a Chief of Security." He sat back and examined her. "And then you requested the posting here in the PRD."

"It felt like the right thing for me at the time, Captain." She was nervous. She worried about where it was all leading.

"I'm not sure that you're ready for this, Lieutenant, but, with the loss of Commander Merran, I'm going to need you to take charge of your department. Keep things under control down there."

"I'm just a soldier, sir. I'm no department head."

"You are now," he put simply. "Until a replacement can be found."

"Merran was a full commander, I'm just a lieutenant."

"You won't be the first lieutenant to play department head."

"This isn't how I wanted to move up the ladder, sir. I haven't earned it. I'm… I'm not even sure I ever planned to go further than this."

He paused for a moment. She'd never seen him so congenial. "Look, I understand that you're new to PRD and that leadership might very well be a new consideration for you. Still, this is how it happens sometimes. Moving forward in your career can mean stepping up when you don't expect it. Even when you don't want it." The corner of his mouth curled up a little. "We're not going to have an argument about this, are we?"

As nicely as he put it, the question left her with little choice of response. "No, sir."

"Good." He stood. "I need a new proposal from your team in the morning. We have monsters loose in our space and I'd like to go home with something to show for it."

She got up, understanding she was dismissed.

"And Clegg. You should be aware that, at this time, there is no replacement. You're currently the most senior PRD officer in Starfleet."

…_Fantastic_

* * *

Evening came to the Phantom at last, much to the salvation of some of her crew who'd had a particularly troubling day of it. It was just a few minutes to the end of the shift and the mess hall would soon be welcoming the dinner crowd. For now it was quiet and empty of all but 7 people. Parked at two adjacent tables were Willow, Xander, Anya, Kimberly, Schlatnak, Nog and a security officer named Tom Clark, all of whom had received the same strange request to meet Laine here before shift's end. They were here but there was no sign of their host.

"So what's with Lainezilla?" Xander spoke up. "Why the gathering? Did we forget his birthday?"

A few shrugs came his way, but Clegg and Anya had their own theories. What they didn't know was that they were both having the same one.

"Where _is_ that great big Tyrannosaur?" grumbled Xander. He was on a promise with Anya and this little meeting had been an untimely interruption.

"Maybe he's working on something," uttered Willow. "To beef up security. Or… to beef down our lack of success. And…and he needs our input."

"He is going to resign," decided Nog. "The _big man_ has met his match."

Finally, Laine arrived. He ducked through the door and faltered when he saw them waiting, before pushing himself to join them. He perched his large muscular self on a nearby table. His little group turned in their seats to face him. As well as he usually hid his fear and doubt, on this occasion his confidence could not mask them entirely. He looked so insecure at that moment that Willow felt nervous for him. She wanted to go give him a little rub on the back. He was so big, she figured, that he probably wouldn't even feel it.

"Thanks for coming, guys," he said, and let out a long breath. "So… The Illusionist made me realise something… I suppose he made me face my _inner_ Demons." Some of them certainly knew the feeling. "I consider you guys among my friends, so… I wanna be honest with you." He seemed to steel himself for some difficult purpose. "It might not come as a surprise to some of you with the rumours and all, but it's true. I _am_ a Chameloid." He looked at them all with unsteady eyes that betrayed his true vulnerability. "I was born and raised a Chameloid, but this is who I am – the real me. As human as you guys. …Except you, Schlatty. …And you, Nog." He lowered his head a second then tried again. "I'm a Chameloid, but I don't think of myself as a shifter, and I don't want you to either. Even though I can, I don't morph. Not anymore. It isn't me. This here is me. I don't want you to think I'm hiding myself from you at all. Because I'm really showing you myself every day. This is the only me I'm comfortable living with and I don't want – I don't _need_ – to be anything else. I'm sorry that I didn't tell you from the beginning, but there was this non-disclosure thing with Command and then Captain Rayner had his–"

"Why are there no others?" Nog asked him abruptly.

"…Sorry?"

"Chameloids are considered mythical," explained the Ferengi. "Other than James T. Kirk, no one on record has ever seen one in the flesh. Where are they? Are they hiding?"

Laine's fear grew. Did the Ferengi mean 'hiding', or did he mean 'spying'? "I don't know, Nog. The last time I saw another Chameloid was almost a hundred and twenty years ago, but he was 1900 years old. He'll be gone now. If Kirk saw one, maybe they _are_ out there somewhere."

"Nineteen hundred?" Xander repeated. "One thousand…nine hundred?" Laine nodded. Xander stared at him for a long time.

"How old are you, Laine?" Kimberly asked in awe.

He had to think about it. "About 500 I guess."

"Yowzers." – From Xander.

From Clegg he got a long whistle.

"Technically, I'm still a teenager," he admitted.

"That explains a lot," muttered Anya.

He didn't get to ask her what that meant before Xander horned in again. "How old do you shifty devils _get?_"

"The oldest I ever heard of was about 2000 years."

"Whoa…"

"Where's your home planet?" asked Kim.

"I don't know that either. I heard it was destroyed in a supernova, but maybe she's out there too. She was called Arc. Arc, the living planet."

"Is this as big as you get?" asked Willow after first putting her hand up.

"Yeah, this is pretty much the limit."

"Damn," grumbled Xander. "You don't even have to work out for the body of Adonis. Lucky son of a gun…"

"How small can you go?" asked Nog.

"Smaller than you, Ferengi," he replied. "I could probably pass myself off as a 10-year-old girl." There was an awkward moment's silence. "Not…that there's any reason I _would_."

"Right," agreed Xander, and then, "Unless you just _gotta_ have that My Little Pony."

Laine was surprised as he watched them. Willow and Clegg were laughing at Xander and Schlatty was scratching his head at them with his long digits and Nog was…just Nog.

Tom got up and stormed over to him and Laine suddenly felt his body tense up for an attack. The Illusion stormed through his mind again.

"I got a date in ten," said Clark, and slapped Laine on the back as he left. "See you in the morning, boss."

Anya whispered something in Xander's ear, to which his eyes lit up and they excused themselves quickly.

Nog stopped on his way out and leaned in close. "If you ever decide to make use of your ability... I have a few very profitable ideas…"

He shooed the little rascal along.

"I'm gay," Willow said. She made eye contact first with Kimberly, before dropping her head bashfully and looking up to Laine. "Oh, I…I didn't just come out," she explained. "All I'm saying is… we all choose to be who we are, and just hope for acceptance, right?" She smiled at him and got up. "I'm gonna take a shower before dinner," she said, and left the mess hall.

Kimberly smiled up at him too before pushing herself out of her seat. She came over and put a friendly hand on his shoulder. "You know, you shouldn't be afraid to be true to your roots sometimes too. It's part of you. There's nothing to be ashamed of in that." She gave him a light pat and headed off. "See you tomorrow, big guy."

By the time Clegg was out the door, Schlatnak was returning from the replicator with his evening meal of steaming vegetation. He sat, forked up a heap of weedy grass and gave it a blow, looking to his chief. "Difficult, different standing," he expressed in his ethereal elegant tone. "This day, same days before. Strong mind having. Strong self having. …Laine, Phantom ship… Friends having."

The big man felt a good decade of tension leave him with a sigh. "Thanks, pal. I'll see you in the morning."

"Food no?"

Laine turned at the door. "Not much of an appetite today. And there's something else I need do tonight."

* * *

When Kimberly arrived at their quarters, Willow was already undressed and hanging her uniform in the wall closet. She gave Will the time to finish stripping while she fingered the leaves of her plant on the narrow stand by the door. "What a day," Kimberly sighed, tearing off her Starfleet jacket.

Willow stretched her eyes wide. "Yeah." _What a day indeed._ She wrapped herself in a bath towel and turned around. "How did it go with Captain Rayner?"

"I got promoted."

"You did? Really?"

"Really. Very, very really. I'm… I'm the head of PRD." It was the first time she'd heard herself say it.

"That's great – not how you got it, but… you'll be great."

"Hope so. I just can't shake this feeling. Like I'm walking on Commander Merran's grave."

"Oh, Kim… You can't let it be about that." Willow felt for her. She knew exactly what Kimberly was talking about. "I had a teacher who was murdered a few years ago and the principle put me in charge of her classes. She was a friend and I didn't want to replace her. I _couldn't_ replace her. She was Jenny Calendar, and I wasn't. I found out in the end that I didn't have to replace her. I had to make the class my own, and the best way I could do justice to her memory was by taking the foundations she'd laid and building on them in my own way. I did the best job I could for her."

Kim gave the plant a goodbye pat and shrugged in a kind of hesitantly agreeable manner.

"Just remember it was the Illusionist that created this situation, not you."

"Yeah. I know. I know. What a butthole."

A loud grunt of laughter erupted from Willow, making her blush. "Sorry. It's been a long time since I heard anyone say butthole." She made for the shower and stopped in the doorway. "In the meeting earlier – the debriefing – the other debriefing, not this one," she joked, being undressed and wrapped in a towel, "you never said what happened to you on the mission. I wanted to ask… What did he do to you?" That sounded a bit intrusive. "If…if you want to talk about it."

"He made my worst fear come true," she confided. "Made me helpless and trapped – unable to fight back. I don't know if I told you, but I worked security before PRD. I'm an arse-kicker by nature, and he basically stopped me kicking arse."

"He gave me a hard time too. Tried to break me down and then threw some twisted home-truths in my face."

"I know. I saw. He made me watch from the shadows. That was the helpless part I mentioned."

"You saw? Everything?" Willows ears began to burn. Her cheeks followed.

"Yeah. I…I didn't know you– …I mean, obviously, I didn't know you were… until in the mess hall just now… But I didn't realise you felt that way…about me."

"Sorry."

"Don't be sorry. If I was gay, I'd be–"

"Don't. Don't say that."

"I was just going to say I'd be lucky to have a girl like you liking me that way."

_Okay…okay…_ She suddenly felt like she was in another false reality. "Any chance we can pretend you didn't know about that?"

"I don't think I can do that," said Kim. "But it doesn't matter. It doesn't change anything. We're friends."

_Okay…okay… That's not so bad…_

"Come here." Kimberley opened her arms. She was down to her vest and panties, giving Will a semi-heart attack. "Come on, Willow. Friend hug. You look like you need it. I sure as hell need it."

Willow gave in and smiled, shuffling over and accepting the warm and platonic comfort of her… sweet-smelling tender embrace. _Stop it_

Something dropped and hit the carpet.

"Towel…" squeaked a horrified Willow.

"Yeah." Kim let go and turned away quickly while she gathered up her dignity. "What's this?" Clegg spotted a small padd on her bunk.

Willow fled into the washroom. "Something for you to read. It's everything I can remember about the Wiccan Omnibus to the Mother Goddess, with a few new additions that aren't in the original text. If I have to learn about your world through Klappy the Klingon and friends, I thought it only fair you have homework too."

"Fair enough. So what's this new knowledge you have that isn't in the book?"

"I told you I met her, right? Well, her name's Eden. Think of her as an angel of God. With a really nice garden."

Kimberly eyed the first pages and thought about what else she'd seen in the Hotel California. "Willow."

"Yeah?"

"For the record, I don't think you could ever become that evil witch he showed you."

She reappeared around the doorway. "I did…kind of…go postal on him."

"I wanted to do the same thing myself. I would have. Doesn't make us evil. We're here to fight monsters and he was a monster. You're not."

* * *

The morgue was right next door to sickbay. It was small. Just enough space to pull the refrigerated capsules out of the wall and walk around them. Only two were occupied, and both were out. Lt Cmdr Laine was standing between them. Merran and King; wrapped in vacuum-sealed glass tubes, never to move or speak or think again. He was there watching them with their eternally closed eyes, arms at their sides, and in their white and grey dress uniforms embroidered with gold.

That was how Captain Rayner found him. He was in his slacks, leaning against the bank of drawers between their caskets and didn't look up for some time.

"Laine." Javen stepped into the room and stopped beside Commander Merran's drawer. She looked peaceful enough. "This isn't the place to spend your time," he told the giant security chief. "You're too close to this–"

"Captain, if you have something you need to say to me I'd like to hear it now rather than later."

Laine wasn't looking him in the eye. It was like he was braced for something – something big and painful. Rayner knew what it might be. "I'm familiar with your report. I won't be stripping you of your position and confining you to the brig today," he assured him. "Unless you're planning on running around my ship killing people for real."

"No." Laine looked to the bodies. "Two is more than enough for one day."

"You're taking credit for their deaths?"

"It was my mission," he conceded. "My first planet-side mission, after you trusted me despite that…_stupid_ bar brawl in Frisco."

Javen leaned against the cold wall. "This is probably the point where I'm supposed to recount to you some anecdote about my first time leading an away-mission. But it took a few before I lost a man. That didn't make it easier, mind. There were things I could have done differently but it happened the way it happened. You're going to feel like you didn't do things right, but it doesn't mean you did anything wrong." Their eyes met. "It's not your fault they died, Laine. If it's anyone's fault it's my own. I chose to let you loose for the first time into a dangerous new situation. Add to that the fact that it was Command that put us both in that situation. We're all going to have to stumble our way through this operation until we find our monster-hunting feet. Fact is, only one man is to blame for this." He pointed to the caskets. "And he's still loose out there."

Laine rolled his head up to the ceiling, closed his eyes, and sighed.

"If you want to dwell on them," Javen said of their dead colleagues, "then use what you have up here." He pointed to his head, and then to the capsules. "Because Merran and King don't live here anymore."

Laine shoved himself away from the wall bank and slid the drawers back into storage. But his hands still lingered on the grips.

"I understand you told some of the crew about your true nature."

"Yeah, I did," said Laine bluntly. "That Illusionist guy managed to get to me through my one fear – my weakness. He did me a favour in the end because now I've been able to deal with it. It's out in the open and I don't need to fear it anymore. If people really are my friends, they'll accept me for who I am. If not, I know they're not worth calling friends."

"I appreciate what you went through," Javen allowed him, "but this is still a violation of your agreement with Starfleet Command."

"It was never a legal agreement. I'm not even sure if it's ethical. Besides, I had to. If people can't accept me for what I am then I can never be close to anyone because they're accepting me as something I'm not. I may as well be making friends in the holodeck." He stood up straight, having bolstered his own convictions. "If that creates a tactical disadvantage… I'm sorry, but… there it is."

"I get it." The captain pushed off the wall and moved toward the door. "I still think your true status should be kept off your public file."

"I don't have any problem with that."

Captain Rayner nodded, satisfied. "I'm heading for the mess if you don't have plans. Some of us are having a drink in their honour."

Sounded like it was worth a double shot or two.

* * *

"I like it here," said Anya, her legs hanging over the gangway. The huge spheres of the impulse reactors throbbed with a red glow while the warp engines pulsed below. Sound and light. Waves of blue and red reflected across the ceiling like an aurora borealis. "The engine sounds alive."

Thrum, thrum, thrum…

The life-force of the starship USS Phantom.

Xander and Willow were with her on the railed catwalk in the heart of the starboard engine. A quiet place of their own on the small cramped vessel.

Xander sighed. "Did you hear?"

"That we've been called back?" said Will.

"On our way back to Earth again," he hummed, projecting little enthusiasm, "with nothing to show for our troubles."

"This entire operation was doomed from the start," insisted Anya. "There are Demons out there that no one here, including us, have ever heard of. Sending a bunch of space marines out here to round them all up was a desperate act of futility that's only going to end in failure." She breathed a sough of apathy. "The Phantom's a joke."

Willow gave her a black look. She could be such an insensitive b-word. "These are good people – a strong crew. They'll do the best job that can be done with the tools they have."

"Yes, but it all comes down to reputation. Give it a year or two and there'll be jokes about it. …Oh, you'll never be able to achieve that goal – you're on a Phantom mission. …Just look at all the effort they put in – in the end they still pulled a Phantom. …Just look at the Titanic."

Willow hated to admit it, but there was a valid truth in that.

"We managed to stop Baragnos and Electro as a team," noted Xander. "Maybe if we'd had Giles and the Slayer onboard we could have done a better job."

The girls ran that scenario through their heads. 'We're not sidekicks,' Willow had said once, 'We _are_ the team.' But if Buffy really could have dealt with things in her usual no muss, no fuss manner, what did that mean for Willow's little declaration? Hot air? Had she pulled a Phantom?

"No," Anya decided, "They would have just been under the same illusion as the rest of us."

That was of some solace to the witch. Buffy, after all, would still have to have something to fight and nothing of that mission had been real.

"Besides," the former Demon added, "I'm not sure Buffy would fit in with our new gang."

Xander turned to her in surprise. "Why?"

"She's right," Willow agreed, which was quite a step after their recent squabbles.

Xander was double-shocked. "What's wrong with Buffy?"

"Well, she's a Slayer," said Will.

"We're more into the capturing these days," Anya pointed out.

Xander drifted away into a sulk, leaning his head between the railings and staring down at the heat shielding and the massive warp coils.

Maybe Buffy and the mission didn't mesh, but Willow still wished she had been around. Then again, she hadn't exactly been Miss Happy Pants since getting marooned here. She'd put on a brave face but it wasn't particularly opaque.

Besides, Buffy was turning Klingon and from the local gossip, the Klingons were hard to get along with. Buffy had already disrespected the Vulcan monks of P'Jem. How would she take to Schlatnak or the Pink Twins? Or Laine? She hoped Buffy wasn't turning into an alienophobe or something. Buffy might end up with no friends if she went on like that.

The thought of having no friends went through Willow's mind and then the thought of how that might come about for her.

Becoming a dark witch and going all Vader. That would certainly do it.

It wasn't like she had no control over herself. She was in charge of her energies. It wasn't like she could just give up, either. She had to teach Kimberly and the others how to find their inner Wiccan. She had to pass on her…

_Mr Miyagi!_ That was it. Of course. She needed to be Mr Miyagi now. He didn't have to karate his way through town to teach Daniel-san how to karate his way through town. She could train Kim-san and the gang how to fight evil without having to delve herself. And it might actually be safer if Starfleet didn't rely too heavily on her supernatural abilities. Just be an advisor like Anya and Xander. Find better ways to work. Was that sensible? Or did it sound stupid?

"Maybe I need to take a step back from the witchcraft," she found herself saying.

It woke Xander up. "What? Hang up your broomstick?"

"No, just… ease off it for a while. People here are relying on us to deal with the undealable. Throwing us into situations like the away-mission expecting we can handle whatever hell throws at us. Maybe we need to take things more carefully. Think before we leap. And if we can't invent new magic, what if we focus on new technology?"

Anya wasn't impressed. "We're already on track to recreating the whole Initiative disaster."

Right. Locking the supernatural armies of a Demon realm up and studying them was heavily into the déjà vu. Mess up with half-studied magic and risk becoming something worse than Demon, or screw up the science and risk going the way of Professor Walsh and her boys.

"Everything was so simple back home," grumbled Willow. "I wish I knew what we're meant to do here. Does our existence still have purpose? What is it now?"

"If I'm forced to have another philosophical thought this week, my head's gonna explode," moaned Xander. "Man, I need a holodeck."

Will shook her head. Typical guy. Gotta have the latest toy. "You need movie night."

"Movie night!" he cooed. "Of course! Why didn't I think of that? It's been, like, eternity. Galaxies have formed – stars have burned away and made new planetary systems since we last had a movie night." He rubbed his hands together and eyed her cunningly. "What'll it be? A Nightmare on Elm Street?" Willow made a snarly face at him. "Probably not the best choice after today… Papillon? …Zulu? …Ben Hur? …Attack of the Killer Tomatoes? No! … _Return_ of the Killer Tomatoes! A George Clooney classic."

"What about Titanic?" said Anya "I like that movie. Especially when the pervert drowns near the end. It's just that last part – when the stupid old lady throws her necklace away. I mean… that thing was worth a _fortune_. What a waste."

"Blade Runner," Xander realised. "Are we human? Or just replicants?" That was deep and poignant.

"So much for your philosophy boycott," Willow said, causing Xander to reach for a sudden phantom headache. "I was thinking more along the lines of Bring It On," she clarified. "Or a Bill and Ted double bill…and Ted."

Xander's head popped up and he smiled. "Mindless feel-good fun. Good thinking, Will." He liked Bill and Ted… but he also liked cheerleaders frolicking in tight crop tops and short skirts…

Willow watched Xander's mental process as it played out across his face. First was the _Mmm_ of time travel high jinks and Ziggy Piggy, then came the _Ooh_ of scantily clad supermodel school girls. He raised his hands and began to wiggle his digits enthusiastically.

Spirit fingers it was, then.

* * *

90 light-years from Earth, beyond the Hromi Cluster and the Archanis Sector, a green planet circled a K-class orange dwarf star in a region of red space. The planet, its one supercontinent covered in wild nature and vast mountain ranges, its cities a grid of multilevel promenades and rising stone spear-tips aglow with an orange/red light from below as if built on a foundation of burning lava, was the planet Qo'noS, home of the Klingon people.

In the First City of the Klingon Empire, in a night club built on the highest level of the Kee'el Tower in the Imperial Quarter, surrounded by members of the High Council, generals, commanders and warriors, was a blonde-haired Human girl in a Klingon military uniform, drunk as a skunk and singing along to the songs of old.

Buffy Summers – The Beast Slayer – stood balanced on the central table singing at full throttle, her voice lost among the chorus.

"EJ HUMTAH EJ DECHTAH IW

EJ DOQ SODTAH GHOSPA SQRAL BIQTIQ

E PA JAJ LAW MO JAJ PUS

JAJ QEYLIS MOLAR MIGH HOHCHU QU!"

The drinking song ended and the crowds hushed, save for a few cheers and Buffy's off-kilter wailing as her own shanty came to a close.

"Yo ho ho and a bottle of rum!" She raised her tankard with gusto, slipped in a pool of blood wine, and dropped like a wet rag. She hit the table and finished up on the floor in a puddle of ale.

The silence of the crowd was brief; the laughter was long and raucous.

Before she could make peace with the floor, she picked herself up with help and stumbled into the arms of a female warrior. That is, she looked female to Buffy's booze-marinated eyeballs.

"Raar!" roared the Slayer 5 minutes later as she again recounted The Fall of Worf at the clawed hands of Baragnos the Mutilator, scourge of Delta Vindi. She was amid a tight huddle of Klingons, some of which had heard the story, some of which were catching it for the first time.

"The _beast_ – a giant with claws like swords and the face of a hideous sea monster…" she was slurring as they listened intently. "…and Worf's sword was cleaved in two!" Her audience gasped in Klingon fashion. "…The beast _threw_ him to the hard stone wall… But Worf got back on his feet!" They barked with approval. "…A second monster made of pure lightening fired a-a _huge_ bolt of-of _lightening_ at Worf and he _still_ got up to face them!" They growled louder. "…It was then that Baragamos," she bumbled drunkenly, "_took_ Worf's knife and his hand along with it!" They oohd and aahd. "Yet Worf, the…the great _warrior Worf!_" she exabelorated, "Defiant of pain and loss of limb, led our people to safety and faced the beast one final time. …And, even as it pierced his chest with three giant claws, and raised him off the ground, Worf delivered one last blow. With his dying breath, he laughed at the beast and said: 'Your face is like the ass of a targ!'"

The Klingons roared, and applauded, and laughed, and cheered, saluting their goblets of wine and ale to the memory of a great warrior now standing proudly among the mighty champions in Sto'Vo'Kor.

To Ambassador Worf! The killer of giant beasts!

Buffy staggered across to the nearest table and held herself up against it. She squeezed her eyelids to remove some of the blur as a well-built man stood over her. It was Chancellor Martok.

"I believe you are drunk, Slayer," he chuckled gruffly.

"Yes! I am indeed drunk. Drunky drunk, drunkety drunk, drunk as a punk on junk. Embalmed. Fermented. …Chemically enhanced!" She tried to walk again and failed. "Okay, perhaps chemically reduced would be more accurate." Heck, she wasn't even fit to fight Count Drunkula!

"In Klingon, we would say you are struggling with a knife in your back!"

She gave a pig snort and ordered another drink.

"TELL US MORE!" came a nearby cry.

"Yes," said another. "Tell us again of Worf's victories against the armies of Gre'thor!" – The Klingon Hell.

A familiar listener piped up, dragging her closer. "Tell them of Worf's defeat against the…the… what was it? Gor-Rilla? Yes! The giant Gorilla of Epsilon Ursae Six!"

And, so she did. At one point, she'd punched one Klingon in the head when he laughed in her face, squeezed her left butt cheek, and bellowed, "YOU HAVE THE BUTTOCKS OF A BABY MAPLUQ!"

She didn't know what a Mapluk was, but she knew what a rowdy Klingon sounded like when he hit the floor.

Strength games and more tales of combat followed, along with songs and more drink. It was all good fun and good therapy until she realised she was a public wreck and spent an hour sleeping it off on the floor against the bar.

When she came to, her hair and clothes were a sticky mess and the partying Klingons were mostly in her head.

There were a few stragglers. A pair of old Council members singing a low quiet hymn together. A male taking a female against a corner wall.

She pulled herself up and felt nauseous. A stampede ran over her broiled brain. She was thankful for the nap; it probably saved her from hurling her innards out.

"You fought with Worf."

She heard the voice and had a memory flash.

* * *

Buffy raised Worf's bat'leth over her head and brought it down to sever his neck, and the end met with his d'k tagh knife as he expertly blocked the strike. He snarled up at her and spat out some Klingon warning…

* * *

"Slayer?"

"What?" She squinted under the glare of a red overhead light and saw a fat middle-aged warrior. He was tall.

"You battled alongside Ambassador Worf."

"…Yeah." She rubbed her head.

"Then, perhaps you knew his aid, Gor'agh?"

Her mind was a haze. "Gor'agh…?" It sounded vaguely familiar.

"I have heard that you now possess his bat'leth, and that you have defeated many enemies with his sword."

_Oh, God, of course… _"Right." Her head felt like a demolition site. "Gor'agh." Incoming! Wrecking ball! "Yeah."

The Klingon didn't look particularly pleased with her. "He was son to my brother. In future, when you tell tales of great battles, you may wish to remember the warrior who bequeathed you his family's Sword of Honour."

She squirmed under his piercing gaze before he turned about and made his exit.

_That was a kick in the head_

Though, she did have to admit, his complaint was far from unwarranted. She _had_ forgotten all about Worf's aid. She whined at the pain of a real kick in the head – from the inside – and shuffled across the club floor. She found her way out onto the quiet torch-lit terrace overlooking the capitol city of the Klingon Homeworld. There, she leaned over the balcony and took in the fresh air and the view of the First City.

The sky was a deep dark green canopy swept by low-hanging grey clouds like lingering cigar smoke. The city, squared off by elevated pathways lined with walls and trees, with a scattering of Aztec towers rising up to points, was bathed from below in an orange glare like the Great Fire of London was raging somewhere down there beneath it all. And, in the distance, barely visible through the cloud cover, a vast mountainscape of snow-tipped peaks. The city could at times be a savage place, but up there, far out of the cities, was the really savage land. The _really really_ savage land.

During her time on Kronos, she'd hunted wild targ in the Hamar Mountains and wrestled a sabre bear on Kang's Summit. She'd done most of the activities Worf was planning on introducing her to. Only, without Worf.

She'd met a great many Klingons so far on their home world, as one might expect, but none of them were like Worf. They were vulgar and combative for the most part, and lacked his inner calm. Worf was a meditative brooding sort, where other Klingons were impetuous and downright insolent. He had a composed, restrained nobility about him; a stillness; a quiet dignity, where other Klingons were as loud, wild and dirty as the targs they hunted. Where Worf would speak, most Klingons had foghorns between their nose and chin.

She massaged her temples and sighed. A wind blew through the city. People sang in the distance, far below. A couple walked the raised promenade and descended into the under-city, more fist-in-face than hand-in-hand. Not quite her idea of romantic, she thought, as she panned across the Imperial Quarter. Paths, buidings and trees. Not a graveyard in sight.

_What am I doing here…?_

"There is already talk among the High Council members," Martok declared in his distinguishing rasp as he joined her on the terrace, "that none other than _Keedera_ is composing an opera of epic scale to honour Worf's life." He sounded pleased with that.

"He deserves it," she granted.

"You miss him," observed the Klingon. "As do I. I took Worf into my House. He was my closest friend. And my brother." He studied her profile with his one eye. "And what was he to you?"

"He was a mentor. I guess." That wasn't just it. He was a hunter, a fighter, a soul that was part 'human' (more so than other Klingons), part wild beast (like her – like Angel).

"He was the one thing here that bears any resemblance to home," She explained. That's how it felt. When he'd talked to her of hunting beasts in jungle forests and trapping armoured reptiles in the mountains, she could have imagined it as her nightly patrol. Slaying the monsters; unleashing her inner warrior.

It had been a daydream. A fantasy.

She looked out at the view of the alien city and felt suddenly the distance of those 90 light years to Earth, and the 376-year time difference.

"The beauty of Qo'noS never ceases to astound me," said Martok. "You would be welcome here, Slayer, if you still feel that Worf's world can provide some substitute for your own."

She didn't really have to think about it. "There is one thing you don't have here," she uttered wistfully. "It's weird, but, I miss cemeteries. Actually, It's not so weird. They centre me. All those tombstones and mausoleums. It's kind of beautiful and peaceful. That is, until the corpses of the undead come to life and try to drain all my blood out through my neck, of course."

She even seemed nostalgic about that part, thought Martok. There were no corpses for her on Qo'noS. None that were humanoid, none that were possessed of Demon. "It sounds to me like it is your world that you miss."

With a guilty blush she dropped her head. "I don't belong here. I can't be a warrior all the time. I'm the Slayer, but I'm also Buffy. Sometimes I just…need to be human."

He understood. She didn't mean 'Human', she meant 'human'.

"Chancellor."

"Yes?" It was his aid at the balcony opening.

"I have the head of Starfleet Command on subspace. He wishes to speak with you urgently."

Martok took leave and Buffy was alone again with the view.

She wasn't much of a city girl. She liked the simple town life and the occasional quiet moments it allowed when the forces of evil were on a break. She missed standing on the bluff and looking down at her own confined little world of Sunnydale. That was her space, it was what she knew and understood, and could control. Now, as she looked out, she saw an alien world that went on and on and didn't need her to survive. Beyond it, just more of the same going out into space. There was so much out there – too much – and still, there was nowhere to go. She felt like she was back in L.A. trying to find a new life because she'd lost her old one. She'd been lost and hadn't known it, just needing to find her way back. Now she was lost and she knew it. Only this time she _couldn't_ find her way back. There was no way back. No hope. No life for her. No purpose.

Even the Klingons, who she'd thought were like her, had no purpose here. They were warriors without a war. And when war came, they would only be killing other living souls.

It wasn't her way. They weren't her people. She didn't have a people anymore. She wasn't even herself, because all she was she could no longer be.

Living hell.

_Drink,_ she heard. _More blood wine and ale. Just drink and drink and don't stop. It'll all go away…_

"Slayer," Martok beckoned on his return. She was kellicams away, still half-drunk. "…Buffy." She turned to face him, surprised by her own name. "Collect your things. It is time for you to leave."

She straightened up. Had she said something wrong? Insulted his honour? Then again, he hadn't said it in _that_ way. "Had enough of me already?" she asked, half joking, half serious, just to be safe.

"It seems the Federation President has issued a request for your return to Earth."

_The __**President**__…?_ "Me? What did I do?"

"It was not a warrant for your apprehension if that is of any comfort. It just means the difference between you finding your own way there and me making it a priority to get you there as soon as possible."

"Oh. Which is it?"

"The latter."

"Oh, good. 'Cos I really don't know how I would've handled that first option."

"I am sure you would have handled it like a warrior. A _human_ warrior. Come, you must leave immediately. Alexander will take you."

The son of Worf appeared at the entrance to the terrace to escort her to his ship.

She was going to Earth. And it was all at the request of… the President of space.

She _must_ have done something…

* * *

**Onboard the Enterprise-F, 2418 AD:**

When the turbolift arrived at the bridge, Crius marched to tactical and Leonid Korotkin took over the conn.

Willow headed straight for her readyroom, passing one overworked android on the way. "I haven't forgotten you, Data."

The second Captain Rosenberg was off the bridge, an enraptured Korotkin mailed his big green colleague behind tactical.

Lt Crius puzzled as a dialogue box silently opened on his screen. It was from the pilot.

_That was awesome. Could you imagine the Enterprise hunting Demons across the Alpha Quadrant? When she comes back, ask her more stuff._

Children. And what was it about Humans? They could never get their minds fully on the job. It was always idle talk and idle thinking with them. When he looked up, Leonid was peering over his shoulder at him from the pit with wide excited eyes, nodding for him to accept his request.

"Do you have something you wish to report, Lieutenant Korotkin?" – It was Cmdr Data.

Crius allowed himself the faintest smile.

"N-no, sir." Leonid turned back to his post and kept his head down.

* * *

There was a message waiting for her on her desk computer to call back Starfleet HQ. She recognised the extension code and sent her call right away. A few seconds later, Admiral Woodburne, head of Starfleet Foreign Relations, appeared at his desk. He was a slender man, very tall and sinewy with age – about 73 years of it. His hair was a grey-silver combed back and thinning.

"Admiral. Good morning," Willow greeted.

"I'm pleased to see you still in one piece, Captain."

"Me too."

"Not the best of days for you to face the Tal Shiar."

_Retirement day? No, not the best of days…_ "It _was_ somewhat inconsiderate of them."

"And the Romulan situation? Should we be concerned?"

"With this new weapon of theirs… I would say concern is called for. But if the Tal Shiar are up to something, they don't seem to have the support of whatever remains of the Romulan Empire. Something to keep in mind the next time you manage to make contact."

"Still… the Tal Shiar…" He ruminated on it a moment. "I think we're going to have to initiate new security protocols. We can't allow any of their cloaked Raptors to reach our colonies and outposts." He stopped himself from blithering on. "Well, we'll talk more when you get here. Tomorrow, perhaps."

She nodded. "How are things at your end?"

"Not particularly good, Captain. Our galaxy is falling apart around us."

She leaned closer to the screen. "There've been more incidents?"

"Symptoms seem to be progressing at a frightening rate," he revealed. "We haven't been able to keep it quiet any longer. The media are calling it The Great Collapse. We've lost another system in sector 006. 70 percent ripped. It's expanding. Getting awfully close to Andoria. And the Klingons are admitting their space is riddled with similar events of sudden disintegration. It makes no sense – all _ultimate fate of the universe_ theories upheld that the universe would expand continuously for eternity. And now this phantom dark energy is tearing the atoms of reality apart, leaving vast empty wastelands where planetary systems and interstellar matter once were. Every physical object broken apart in an instant into unbound elementary particles and radiation. There's no cause for it. It's incomprehensible."

His face had grown stricken. She could see by his pallor and change in bearing that this _Great Collapse_ scared him enormously.

"You haven't seen any signs?" he asked.

"Not this far out, Admiral."

That comforted him some and he nodded. "Just take care coming in. There's no telling where this will happen next."

Woodburne signed off and Willow relaxed back in her seat.

She should probably be worried too. She knew more than most people about the Big Rip phenomenon that was tearing its way through the Beta Quadrant, and she knew if the populous at large was aware of the full facts there would be panic. Thanks to the media, there might yet be.

For some reason she wasn't panicking. The incidents were still restricted to the area around the Paulson Nebula. Only small sections of lifeless systems had been effected, and areas of open space out of the main shipping lanes. It wasn't quite the end of the universe just yet. Someone would find a way to neutralise the phantom dark energy. Just as soon as some genius figured out why it was happening.

Well. Time to relieve Data.

* * *

"Lieutenant Korotkin. You're fidgeting." She'd been watching him shift about and almost turn around for the best part of an hour and now it was beginning to nettle her. "Are you on a mission to nuisance your captain?"

"No, ma'am," the pilot replied fervidly as he turned on his stool. "It's just… I was wondering, Captain. About what you were saying before."

Willow smiled inside. The boy was hooked. "And what might you be wondering, helmsman?"

His face lit up. "If you didn't have your Demon books or magic books or whatever, and you couldn't catch the Demons you were hunting… (the bridge crew were looking at him like he was a mental case) …then how come they aren't around anymore? The Demons and Vampires? Why didn't they beat us?"

She breathed out long and hard. The kid could ask a question, all right. The uninitiated bridge staff were watching her carefully for a response, half expecting her to have their pilot carried off to a cushioned cell in a level ten restriction field.

"Why didn't they beat us?" she repeated, mulling it over. There was no easy answer. But there was a place to begin. "I would have to say it all hinged on our next big mission," she told him. "Our voyage home." His face was already glued to hers like a drooling spaz. "I suppose you'd like to hear about that too?"

"Oh yeah," he answered. "Yes, ma'am."

She was aware of the greater audience this time but it didn't bother her. Now that Korotkin and Crius were past the initial wow factor, it might be fun to surprise some other unsuspecting youngsters.

In Crusher's place at ops was Michelle Zuniga, a thirty-something brunette, short hair, well-built. Enough to make Willow jealous, what with the old saggy lumps and bumps she was dragging around with her these days. At science and engineering were Mark Bronwyn and a young Vulcan by the name of T'Lau who actually was as young as she looked. There were other folk about the room co-ordinating their departments' work from the bridge – Ludvigsen from stellar cartography, Toda with astrophysics and Colbeck who was in charge of the cleaning crew. Not a one of them was old enough to remember any of what she was talking about.

"All right then, Lieutenant." She crossed her legs and settled into the arm of her command chair. "But I'm going to have to take you back 417 years. To a very different world…"

* * *

**Side Note****:** I know 'exabelorate' isn't a word, but Buffy was very drunk and, in her attempt to exaggerate AND elaborate, I thought she might exabelorate.


End file.
